Saving Grace
by rahleeyah
Summary: In the aftermath of Ros's death, Harry and Ruth take comfort in each other, but when their relationship falls apart, they believe they've reached the end of the road. Even love has consequences, and neither of them are prepared for what happens next. Starts at the beginning of season 9. Mostly from Ruth's perspective, with quite a bit of Beth thrown in as well. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I am apparently completely bonkers, because despite working eleven-hour days all this week, and despite having written half of the next chapter of Something Wonderful, I have also somehow managed to write the first five chapters of this story. I offer you this first chapter, with the promise of more to come, and a new chapter of SW by the weekend. This story picks up at the beginning of 9.1.**

* * *

Dawn stole slowly over them, the first weak rays of sunlight slanting in through the cracks in the curtains, pulling them up from the land of dreams into the cold, harsh reality of another morning. Ruth woke first, a rare event, since Harry was usually up and in the shower by the time her eyelids first began to flutter.

They'd spent every night of the last two weeks together, ever since the day of the bombing, when a distraught and overworked policeman had called Ruth's mobile from Harry's, telling her that someone needed to come and collect her husband, immediately. It was well past midnight by the time the call came through, the relief shift coming on to cover the Grid so her shattered team could get some rest, and apparently Harry was causing a scene at the bomb site, refusing to leave, refusing to relinquish his authority for a moment, despite the paramedics insisting he was in no fit state to remain. How the policeman had come to have Harry's mobile, or come to assume that she was his wife, Ruth still didn't know, but someone had to be there for him, someone had to take him home, and there was no one else she would trust with that task.

So she'd driven to the remains of the hotel, flashed her Security Services badge, and found Harry, shouting curses at the bomb squad, the plods, the paramedics; he was dirty and exhausted and there was dried blood crusted around his ears. In that moment, Harry looked quite mad, and it was clear from their expressions that everyone within shouting distance was terrified of him. One of the officers tried to stop her approaching him, caught her by the arm and warned her that he was a danger to himself and others, but she'd shaken the man off. She'd walked right up to Harry, mid-diatribe, placed a hand on his shoulder and drawn his attention onto her face.

Never in her life had she seen a man break quite so quickly. Harry took one look at her and dissolved in an instant, his curses dying on his lips as his shoulders sagged and his face fell. He took two steps, and then she was cradling him in her arms as he cried. Cried for Ros, and Jo, and Adam, and Zaf, and Fiona, for Ben and for Helen, for Danny, and even, just a little, for Connie. A reverent silence fell as the frantic activity all around them ground to a halt, as all these men in their dirt-splattered uniforms who had struggled for hours to contain his rage watched this small, unassuming woman accomplish with a single touch what none of them with all their years of training could ever hope to do.

For a time she simply let him cry, running her hands soothingly up and down his back whiles his tears stained her shirt, until finally his grief had run its course, and his breathing slowed. Without a thought for what it might mean, or how it might look to all the people watching, she kissed his temple once and whispered, "Let me take you home, Harry."

And so she had. That night, that first night, they'd simply slept, falling into his bed with their arms around each other, shielding one another from the horrors of the world outside his bedroom. Ros was gone, brilliant, brutal, unflappable Ros, Ros of the sharp tongue and the unshakable loyalty. The last connection to their life before Cotterdam, Harry's strong right hand; she was gone, and the vacuum left by her absence was stunning in its absoluteness.

After that, they were never out of each other's sight, presenting a united front as their section worked tirelessly to untangle the web of Nightingale's deceit. They received hourly updates on the recovery work at the hotel, and though they did not acknowledge it, they both understood that there was no real hope. From his hospital bed Lucas had explained in a voice devoid of emotion how Ros had been determined to save Andrew Lawrence, but simply lacked the physical capability to haul him out of the hotel by main strength; even Lucas himself would have struggled to carry a man that tall, a man who was rather well muscled, despite the relative slimness of his frame. Lucas had requested the schematics of the hotel, and guessed how far she might have progressed, based on where she was when he left and the time between his departure and the explosion. He was rather badly banged up himself, and the hospital insisted on keeping him an extra day, worried about the risk of internal injuries and the rather ferocious knock he'd taken to the head. Ruth had spoken quietly to the doctors, and told them to do everything they could to keep him there as long as they needed; she wouldn't have been able to bear it, if something bad should happen to him as well, when they could have prevented it.

At the end of the first full work day after the bombing, Ruth had quietly traversed the Grid, sending everyone who looked dead on their feet home for a few hours' sleep. She'd gone to Harry around one in the morning, saying softly, "You need to rest." He'd looked at her with heartbroken eyes and responded, " _We_ need to rest." And just like that, without another word on the subject, they went back to his house, together. That second night, they didn't just sleep.

There was too much anger, too much grief, too much frantic activity in the air for anyone on the Grid to take note of their comings and goings, and so the fact that Harry and Ruth left the Grid together each night and arrived together each morning went unremarked for the first few days. By the end of the second week, however, Ruth knew there were murmurings, however stealthy their fellow agents might try to be. It had begun to worry her, these last few days, that people were talking about her, talking about _them,_ again. There had been whispers, when she first arrived back on the Grid after Mani; _that's her_ they'd said, _that's the one. I heard she died. I heard she was a traitor. I heard he loved her._ Back then she tried to ignore it, tried to throw herself into her work, reminding herself every day that the only people who knew the truth were her and Harry, and they were the only people who mattered. Eventually, their coworkers realized there was nothing untoward between them and the gossip died down, and Harry's image remained untarnished. Now, though, now there was a grain of truth to the rumors, and that frightened her.

One day soon she would have to make a decision, would have to actually talk to Harry about this thing that had sprung up between them, and she was dreading it. So far they had just been reacting, responding to their rage and the years of pent-up longing between them, but it had been less than a year since she'd seen the man who could have been her husband shot through the head, for no other reason than that Harry loved her. Ruth wasn't sure she had it in her, to finally give in to everything she felt for Harry, to finally face all the things they had done, all the horrors they had witnessed, together.

She leaned back against the headboard, propping herself up on the pillows, naked in his bed, and scanned through her phone, reading her messages and skimming the news sites for signs of imminent disaster. Beside her Harry shifted restlessly, slowly dragging himself into wakefulness, and she smiled softly at the disgruntled little sounds he made. With a low groan he rolled over, flinging one arm across her hips as his head came to rest against the bare skin of her stomach.

"Good morning," she murmured, unable to resist the temptation to reach down and run her hand over his rumpled hair, her fingertips teasing his scalp lightly.

Harry did not answer her, but she knew his silence was not an indication that he had fallen back to sleep, but rather a gauge of just how good this morning _wasn't_. Ros's funeral was today; in just a few hours they would go to the church, and say goodbye to one of the fiercest, bravest women either of them had ever known. The recovery team had worked tirelessly, day and night, but finally a dowdy-looking man had come looking for Ruth, telling her in a quiet, understanding tone of voice that the families should go ahead and hold a memorial service, that the chances of finding any remains were slim to none, after all this time. It was Ruth who called Ros's mother, and broke the news as gently as she could. It was Ruth who went to Harry, who stood beside him on the roof and said, _it's time to say good-bye, Harry,_ when what she meant was _the time has come for us to grieve._

She cradled his head in her hands, massaging his skin in a way she'd learned he liked. "It will be all right, Harry."

He pressed a gentle kiss against her stomach but made no move to leave the sanctuary of her embrace. "You're sure, about the reading?" he asked in a voice rough from sleep. He'd asked her to do a reading, for the service, since so few of them would be in attendance, and – though he did not give voice to this particular reason – since he did not trust himself to speak on this occasion.

"I'm sure. You're sure about the poem?" Ruth wasn't sure; it wasn't anything she would have picked. _Solitude_ seemed too…pastoral, for Ros, too simple and too rustic, for a woman who had spent her life in the midst of the high melodrama of the intelligence services, for a woman who had killed and lied and bled for the sake of others. Ros had not lived the life the poem described, and perhaps that was why it bothered Ruth so, that she should have to read what was in truth a lament for the sort of life that Ros had never had the chance to enjoy.

"Ros picked it," Harry answered. _How very Ros,_ Ruth thought, to have planned the details of her own funeral so far in advance, down to the poem she wanted read. Likely Ruth would not have been the blonde woman's first choice for a eulogizer, but needs must.

" _Solitude_ it is, then," Ruth agreed.

They lay like that for quite some time, unspeaking as Harry rested in Ruth's lap and she held him close, running her hands over every part of him she could reach. A truly unendurable day stretched out before them, and neither of them could bear the thought of leaving the little bit of peace they had carved out for themselves.

* * *

When they had gone to take their turn around the grounds everyone else had left, even the vicar. So it was that despite the implosion that had been their confessional by the fence, they were forced to return to the Grid in the same car. Harry sat in a contemplative, isolated silence, and Ruth twisted her hands together in her lap and refused to look at him.

 _Marry me, Ruth_.

How could he? How could he stand there, dressed in mourning for a woman who had died following his orders, doing what he had taught her to do, and ask Ruth to marry him? How could he think that two weeks of frantic, mindless sex were enough of a foundation to build a life upon?

It wasn't that Ruth didn't want to marry him, it wasn't that she didn't love him, it wasn't that she didn't need him as badly as she needed oxygen in her lungs; she could not marry him _now_ , and she could not understand how he had come to the opposite conclusion. His proposal had shocked her to the core, had shaken her very understanding of him, and it left her reeling, terrible, cutting words spilling out of her before she had a chance to think them through. And now there was no going back; she had hurt him too much for him to ever trust her with his heart again.

 _There have been thousands of moments…_

She thought about her own words, as he drove along, shoulders stiff and eyes staring straight ahead. There had been moments, perhaps not a thousand of them, but moments nonetheless in which if he had asked her, she would have agreed. She would have said yes, if he'd asked her this morning in a voice lazy and gruff with sleep, his head resting in her lap. If he had said _I love you_ or _I want you in my bed, in my life, always_ , she would have said yes. But he hadn't. He'd spoken of funerals (as if they had to be married for her to mourn for him!), and he hadn't said a word about his heart, his feelings, his love for her. How could she marry a man who couldn't even say _I love you?_

 _You're not much better,_ came a treacherous whisper in the back of her mind.

She did love him, had done for years, but she'd never come any closer to speaking those words aloud than he had. All her life she had been something of a wallflower, fading from view while her more glamorous peers claimed the spotlight, and there was still a part of her that wondered how a man as dynamic and charismatic as Harry bloody Pearce could possibly have chosen her. She couldn't tell him she loved him, not until she was sure he felt the same, until she heard him speak the words and knew without a doubt that what he felt for her was not lust, not guilt, not a desperate gamble to hold onto the only bit of affection in his life, but was in fact a love as true and deep and unshakeable as her own. She needed to hear the words, and, even in the midst of a marriage proposal, Harry had not spoken them.

And now they were shattered, unable even to look at each other.

Oh, how quickly they had fallen apart, as she always secretly feared they might. The feelings between them had always frightened her; they were so _different_ , he so confident, headstrong and passionate, and she so hesitating, so analytical and deeply terrified of sharing herself with another. It would never work, could never have worked, and she told herself that whatever relief she had found in his bed could only ever been temporary. This was her greatest fear, realized; that she might reach for him in a moment of capitulation and reckless abandon, and the heat of him would scorch her, strike her down as sure as lightning, and leave them broken, unable to ever regain the trust and affection and understanding they had shared for so long. Ruth had known, had felt the beginnings of her own ruin in his embrace, and she had fallen into him anyway.

Now she would have to face the consequences.

* * *

 _We move on from this_ , he'd said.

And so they did. They threw themselves back into work, and if anyone noticed the sometimes frosty silences that sprang up between them, no rumors of a lover's quarrel reached Ruth's ears. In the days that followed the funeral, Harry was distant but civil, so courteous that it set Ruth's teeth on edge, to hear him speak to her in such an impersonal way, and she often found herself avoiding him, for that and many other reasons. She had her suspicions, about the demise of Nicholas Blake, but she kept them to herself. In their world, sometimes justice was meted out in unconventional ways, and if Nicholas Blake's death had been the result of something slipped into his glass of whiskey, rather than a heart attack, well, so be it. Harry seemed more drawn, more careworn in the days after the former Home Secretary's death, and it was Harry's discontent more than anything else that revealed the truth to Ruth. She was fiercely, viciously proud of Harry for what he'd done; it wasn't proper, it wasn't ethical, it certainly wasn't legal, but it was _right_ , that Blake should pay the price for his sins.

Seven years ago, such a thought never would have entered her mind. Back then, before the endless parade of loss and impossible choices, before the hard betrayals and the harder truths, Ruth had been too idealistic to support the vigilante killing of anyone, no matter his crimes. Now, though, Ruth was a spook to her very core, and she approved of Harry's decision. There would be no trial for Nicholas Blake, but he hadn't gotten away with it; they'd thwarted his conspiracy to destabilize their beloved realm, and Harry had made damn sure he answered for the murder of Rosalind Myers. His death wasn't enough, not nearly enough, but it would do.

Harry had grown practically despondent, though, as the days trudged on, and Ruth wondered if perhaps he lacked her certainty that what he'd done was the right thing. Their brief, painful conversations during the Abib operation gave her pause, and when he finally revealed his plans to retire, Ruth had been almost physically ill at the very idea. He couldn't _leave_ , couldn't just abandon her, not now, not after everything they'd been through together. A selfish part of her wanted to shout at him, to remind him that he had dragged her into this world of lies and swirling darkness, and he had no right to leave her down here alone. She couldn't bear the thought of a life without him in it, even if they could never again recapture the closeness they'd shared in the immediate aftermath of Ros's death. Even a cold, aloof Harry was better than none at all, and the thought of never seeing him again left her feeling lost and terrified. She'd spoken to him harshly, she knew, accusing him of feeling sorry for himself when it was her own self-pity that made the bile rise in the back of her throat. Fear had overwhelmed her though, made her speak without a care for the damage she might cause. What would she be without him? Who would ever know her, ever understand her ( _ever love her_ ) the way he did?

When the dust settled, Ruth left Beth and Lucas speaking quietly to one another on the Grid, donned her coat, and made her up to the roof, to Harry. She owed him more than the recriminations and scorn she'd given him during their brief interlude in his office; she owed him the truth. Not all of it, certainly, but more of it than she had given him so far. That she loved him, that she feared her love was not enough, those were words she could not give him. She would tell him that she needed him, that she wanted to continue to face this world with him by her side; that would have to do.

She stood there beside him, looking into those soft brown eyes, so hopeless as he gazed at her, and lost all control over her tongue. Her carefully planned apology vanished in an instant, and what came forth instead was a deluge of words, all tangled up as she gave vent to some of her darkest fears. _We've forfeited the chance for that sort of life,_ she told him, believing it wholeheartedly. They could never be some quiet, ordinary couple, would never have found trust and understanding with one another outside the confines of the Grid. _We couldn't be more together than we are right now_ , she told him, wondering if he understood. He relied on her, and she on him; he trusted in her, and she in him; they carried one another through, when the weight of their struggles became too much to bear, and if they could not succeed at romance, if they could not survive together as lovers, at least they had this, this sure and certain knowledge that each would be there for the other, always, no matter what.

"Will you sort out Beth's clearances?" he asked her, and she very nearly smiled at him. She couldn't manage a full smile, not when her throat was tight and her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, but the corner of her mouth ticked up all the same. He had heard her, after all. He would never be her husband, but he could count on her to do what needed to be done, whatever it was, and there was a note of capitulation in his voice, a sort of quiet agreement, that told her he would be content with this state of things. They were not lovers, then, not even friends, but two old soldiers, fighting on, together.

"I will," she promised him, and walked away, leaving him standing there alone before the tears overcame her and she broke down completely.

All she wanted was to go home, but as she went to gather up her bag she stopped to talk to Lucas, and immediately, desperately wished she hadn't. They chatted for a moment, and then Lucas dropped the bomb- he wanted Beth to stay in Ruth's flat, and since he was her Section Chief, and he viewed this as an operation of sorts, he had every right to make that demand of her. Never mind that Ruth's heart was breaking, never mind that what she needed now was a large glass of wine and a good cry; she would have to do her duty, and she would have to find the new girl, and take her home.

Lucas left her leaning up against the desk, shell-shocked and distraught. Any chance she had of something more ( _something wonderful,_ she thought, and almost began to sob right then) with Harry was lost, and nine people had died because of him (because of _her)_ and now she could not even seek solace in her own flat. So dazed was she that her hands acted of their own accord; she reached out, picked up the phone, and called up to the front desk, asking them to stop Beth leaving, or send someone out to catch her, if she'd made her way to the bus stop already. The night guard assured her that Beth was still in the lobby, and she thanked him faintly before setting the phone down again.

It was time to go and collect her new flatmate, and to carry on pretending that her world wasn't crumbling around her ears.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed! I have reworked the summary of this story, in the hopes that perhaps it might make our eventual destination a bit more clear.**

* * *

Beth stood in the hallway between the bedrooms and the kitchen, trying to decide what to do with herself now that she had stowed her meager possessions in Ruth's spare room. It was late, nearly midnight, but she could still hear Ruth clacking away at something on her laptop as she sat at the kitchen table, glass of wine close at hand. Should Beth just go back to her room and try to sleep, or should she go and join Ruth for a nightcap? They'd only just met and now they were supposed to be flatmates, and Beth had no idea what to do in this situation. She hadn't really spoken to Ruth much; they'd had a brief conversation over the phone when Beth called in from the ship, and they'd worked together on the op, but Ruth had spent most of the time closeted with either Harry or Tariq. Beth hadn't had the chance to get any sort of a feel for the other woman's personality, and the next thing she knew, Ruth was pulling her aside, in the Thames House lobby. _You're to be given a permanent position on the team. We know you don't have anywhere to stay, at the moment, so you can use my spare room for now. We can share a taxi back._

And what an awkward taxi ride that had been. Her new flatmate had been quiet and withdrawn, staring out the window and biting her lip. It was fairly obvious that something was wrong; there was a sorrow in the dark-haired woman's eyes that couldn't be explained by the mission they'd just completed, or by her having been forced to take the new girl home. Honestly, if Beth didn't know any better she'd say that Ruth had been on the verge of tears, and though this concerned her a great deal, she was fairly certain that any attempts on her part to offer comfort or solace would not be met with approval.

Once they'd arrived at the flat Ruth had pointed out the spare room and the bathroom, and then retreated to the kitchen to pour herself a very generous glass of wine. Beth had taken her bag into the room that was to be hers now, and unpacked as slowly as possible. It was a nice, if somewhat spartan room; there was a bed with a soft white duvet, a solid oak chest of drawers, and a matching bookshelf. The bookshelf and the drawers were completely empty, but the closet was piled with boxes marked "R.E./Dec./5-D/Eyes Only." What on earth Ruth was doing with a bunch of boxes labeled "eyes only" was a mystery to Beth, and one which she fully intended to investigate, some day when Ruth wasn't home.

Even with her attempts to delay the inevitable, unpacking had been a quick affair; Beth traveled light, always had done. Most of her possessions were in storage, as she'd spent the last eighteen months bouncing around the Middle East, and so the battered old holdall she'd carried into Thames House after arriving straight off the boat was all the luggage she had to bring into her new home. But with her unpacking done, she still felt a bit restless, adrenaline from the op and her sudden change of circumstances leaving her excited and not quite ready to settle down for sleep.

Which was how she found herself dithering in the hallway. She had very nearly made up her mind to go into the kitchen and talk to Ruth when she heard the sharp rapping sound of a visitor knocking on the front door. From the kitchen, she heard Ruth sigh and close her laptop with a sharp snap before pushing back her chair.

On impulse Beth stepped further back into the shadows of the hallway and pressed herself against the wall. From her vantage point she had a clear view of the front door, but she was fairly certain that Ruth and whoever had come to see her at this obscene hour wouldn't be able to spot her. She wondered if perhaps Ruth had a boyfriend, and this line of thought led to some unpleasant questions. Was Ruth living under a legend? Would Beth need to concoct one, too? Would she need to make herself scarce when he came round? Oh God, what would she do if she heard them having sex?

This multitude of questions was quickly abandoned as Ruth unlocked the door and revealed her visitor. Beth sucked in her breath sharply, watching the scene unfolding before her with equal parts confusion and interest.

There, on the other side of the door, looking a little the worse for wear and utterly lost, was Harry Pearce.

During the brief time she'd spent in his company, Beth had drawn all sorts of conclusions about Harry. He was demanding and a bit sharp, but deeply invested in his work and his team. He was the sort of man who was willing to give people a second chance, but never without good reason, and never a third. He was professional, calm, and slightly terrifying. None of these traits were in evidence at the moment, however. He was swaying slightly on the doorstep, and he looked very nearly as sad as Ruth had done in the taxi on the way over. As she watched the pair of them, Beth took in every minute change of expression, every flinch and every sigh, and compiled them all in the back of her mind, to be examined and picked over at a later date.

Ruth was leaning against the open door, one hand curled around it as if she were trying to decide whether or not to let him in at all.

"Harry," she sighed, sounding exhausted and devastated and not even a little bit angry, "It's late. You should be asleep."

"I didn't know where else to go," he answered, his tone faintly pleading and his words slurring just enough to indicate that the Section Head had had a bit too much to drink. "Beth?" he asked, looking over her shoulder. His dark eyes were slightly unfocused, and slid straight from the hallway to the sitting room without ever once landing on the spook hiding just a few meters away from him.

"I think she's already gone to bed."

"I'm sorry to put you out like this-"

"Can we have this conversation another time?" Ruth interrupted him.

Their body language was all wrong, Beth thought as she watched them. One of them would lean slightly towards the other, and then catch themselves and pull back at the last instant. Ruth kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her head bowed as she studied her toes rather than look at him. Harry couldn't keep his eyes off her, staring desperately at her face as though searching for the answer to a question he hadn't yet asked. There was something between them, Beth realized, something personal and dark and awful, and curiosity over what it could be was winning the battle against propriety currently taking place in her mind.

"Let's not do this on the doorstep, Harry," Ruth said finally, stepping aside to let him in. He walked past her, heading straight for the kitchen, and Beth watched Ruth sigh again before closing the door, locking it, and following him.

Beth leaned against the wall, straining to hear the conversation from the kitchen. She heard the sound of a chair being pulled out from the table, the low grunt as Harry sat in it, the soft clinking sounds of Ruth putting the kettle on.

"I'll have something stronger, if you've got it," Harry said, his voice a low, gruff rumble.

"You'll have tea or I'll call you a cab right now," Ruth shot back.

"Tea would be wonderful, thank you," Harry responded in a voice that was very nearly docile.

Silence, again. A palpable, strained, horrible silence as the kettle warmed up and Ruth pulled the milk from the fridge.

Beth knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping. She barely knew these people, she had to live with Ruth and work with them both, but she couldn't stop herself. She'd always been a curious sort; that was part of what drew her into this line of work in the first place. She liked poking around in people's lives, connecting the dots, learning their secrets. It was a habit so deeply ingrained that she simply couldn't put a stop to it, even when she knew she should. So still she stood, and she listened.

She found herself wondering, was this a common occurrence? Harry had gone straight to the kitchen, rather than waiting for Ruth to direct him or plopping down in the sitting room. Ruth had gone straight for the tea, rather than asking what he wanted or what he thought he was doing, barging into her home at this hour. Neither seemed particularly surprised, that he should come round to his employee's home at nearly midnight on a work day, slightly drunk and looking like a little boy whose puppy had run away.

There came the soft sound of a mug settling on the table, and then Harry spoke again.

"Sweet tea," he said. "How very English." There was something heavy in his tone, like he was trying to convey some deeper meaning, and though his intent was lost on Beth, it seemed to strike a chord with Ruth.

"I can't do this now, Harry," she said in a voice that was very near to tears. "I've said everything I mean to say, on the subject."

"I know you have. That's not why I'm here," he told her earnestly. "Really, Ruth, I just came round because…because this is what I would have done, a week ago, if I'd had a hard day and needed some company. I just wanted to see you."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea any more, Harry."

Silence, again.

 _Any more?_ Beth wondered. So this _was_ a common occurrence, then. She filed that information away for later. It was important to know how things stood, on the team, and she was glad she'd be starting her new job one step ahead.

"You smell like the inside of a whiskey barrel," Ruth observed finally, breaking the tension with her wry observation, and Harry chuckled.

"I made the mistake of going to my club, earlier in the evening. I shan't be doing that again any time soon, I can tell you that."

"Why did you even bother joining one in the first place?" Ruth asked.

Beth wished she could see them; the whole tone of the conversation had shifted, as if they'd reached some sort of agreement not to discuss whatever it was that they had touched on a moment before. Whatever it was that Ruth had already said her piece about, whatever it was that made it a bad idea for Harry to come round for tea and comfort, late at night

"Never underestimate the importance of perception. Belonging to a club like mine affords a modicum of respect, in certain circles. They made me jump through all sorts of hoops before they allowed me to join; had to have a letter of recommendation and everything."

"Oh?" Ruth asked, clearly trying to keep things light. "Who recommended you, then?"

"Oliver Mace."

The silence this time was sudden and sharp, and it lingered for a long while. Beth heard the quiet sounds of mugs being raised and lowered, of one of them leaning back against their chair, of Harry clearing his throat. Whoever this Oliver Mace character was, the silence that followed the pronouncement of his name indicated that both Ruth and Harry had a history with him, and, whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant.

"Where is-"

"Don't ask me, Ruth," Harry cut across her sharply. "Please don't. I don't think you want the answer to that question."

She hummed in response. "You're probably right."

Beth was beginning to feel a bit exasperated by the quiet that fell between them. They clearly didn't feel the need to speak to one another in order to communicate, and while that was all well and good for them, it was hell for the spook trying to listen in from the hallway. What sort of people could carry on a conversation as fraught with meaning as this one, and half of it without ever saying a word? The sort of people, she supposed, who knew one another very, very well.

"I shouldn't have come," Harry said eventually, his voice very soft.

Ruth didn't answer him; instead, after a moment, Beth heard her calling a taxi to come and collect Harry.

"Fifteen minutes," Ruth told him when she hung up the phone.

"Does it have to be like this, between us?" Harry asked her.

She sighed.

"We'll be all right, Harry. Like you said. We move on from this." She was quite a moment, and then she repeated, "We'll be all right," though there was something in her voice that made Beth unsure who she was trying to convince, Harry or herself.

"I won't apologize for any of it," Harry told her, his voice firmer, more sure than it had been all night. "I don't regret a moment of it, even knowing how things turned out."

 _Ah,_ Beth thought, _so that's how things are between them_. An office love affair gone wrong; how very cliché. Though they made a rather unlikely couple, to her mind; Ruth had to be at least a decade younger than Harry, if not more, and she was quiet and withdrawn where he was charismatic and volatile. The notion that they had simply fallen into bed together didn't quite match their personalities, and as she mulled this over Beth considered the possibility that they shared something more than just sex. In the kitchen, Ruth had found her voice, and was responding to Harry's non-apology.

"That's good for you," she said.

Ruth's words seemed innocuous enough, but apparently, based on the long lull in the conversation that followed her statement, she had just dealt a crushing blow to Harry.

In fact, they did not speak again until Harry's taxi arrived out front. They came back into view, walking too close together, both of their heads bowed. Harry turned around at the door, staring at Ruth with beseeching eyes, but she refused to meet his gaze.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Harry," she said, reaching past him to open the door.

Harry just nodded and walked off into the night without another word.

Ruth waited until he was safely in his taxi before closing the door once again. As she locked it a small sob escaped her; she turned, leaning heavily back against the door, and Beth could clearly see the tears streaming down her face. Slowly, as if she simply couldn't bear the weight of her sorrow any more, Ruth slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor, pulling her knees against her chest and burying her face in her hands as she wept.

Though she'd found some of the answers she'd been seeking Beth couldn't help but feel rather guilty for eavesdropping on such a personal moment, and so she slipped back into her new bedroom as quietly as she could, hoping Ruth would stay lost in her grief just long enough to cover the sound of the door closing down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I hope you won't mind me updating two stories in one day; I have the first six chapters of this particular fic complete, and I'm quite anxious to get number 5 up and posted, as it's my favorite so far, and lays out the direction we're taking quite clearly. I have to set the stage before we get there, however, and so I present the third chapter now. Will likely post 4 and 5 in rapid succession, and then get back to one or two updates a week moving forward. Thank you for your patience, and all your kind words of support.**

* * *

Ruth rose the next morning at half-five, and padded down the hallway to clamber into the shower, her limbs aching from the night she'd spent tossing and turning, wide awake and miserable. As if it wasn't bad enough, seeing Harry again so soon after their disastrous conversation on the roof, on top of everything he'd seemed so God damned _sad_ that it had broken something deep inside her, some well of emotion that had gone untapped since the day George died. For nearly an hour after he'd left she simply sat on the floor, propped up against the front door, and wept, wept for Harry, for George, for herself. She'd cried until she couldn't breathe, until her head ached, until she thought there were no tears left, and then she'd gone to make herself a cup of tea. In the kitchen she had been confronted by Harry's half-empty mug and his words had echoed in her mind, a stark reminder of just how much had passed between them, of just how hopeful they had been, back before Cotterdam, when he'd been gently trying to win her round and she'd been slowly giving in to him. The tears had started afresh, then, and it was all she could do to stumble into her bedroom, blinded by her grief.

Today was a new day, and her tears were spent. _We move on from this._

So she showered, and dried her hair, donned a skirt and her favorite navy cardigan, and made her way towards the kitchen. It was bloody early, but there was nothing in this house for her, nothing except the phantom scent of Harry's cologne on the air and the memory of his devastated face as he sat at her kitchen table. At least she could work, on the Grid, could distract herself with facts and figures and translations. And when she thought of Harry, she could lift her gaze from her computer and see him, know for a certainty that he was still there, with her. It was enough. It had to be enough.

To her surprise, Beth was already up, leaning against the counter with a mug of tea cupped in her hands, her blonde hair tousled and sticking up in all directions. She was so _young_ , Ruth thought, offering her a half-hearted smile. Beth was young, and cocky, and almost certainly doomed, if she chose to continue in this profession, and Ruth wasn't prepared to open up her heart to this girl, to make room in her life for another friend, only to be devastated by loss once more.

"I made tea," Beth told her in a cheerful voice, motioning towards the kettle. "If you'd like a cup?" she reached for the cabinet behind her, but Ruth waved her off and went to retrieve her travel mug. She'd take her tea with her, a little something to keep her occupied on the commute.

"That's lovely, thank you," Ruth said, giving her a small smile. "We're not due on the Grid until nine, and the commute is less than an hour, if you take the tube. Don't feel the need to rush on my account."

Beth's shoulders slumped slightly.

"If you can wait, maybe thirty minutes, I'd like to go in with you, if that's ok," she said.

Ruth fought the urge to sigh. She didn't want to wait, didn't want to linger here in this empty flat with a bright young spook and bitter memories for company. Ruth wanted to work, she wanted to see Harry, she wanted to get on with her bloody life and stop feeling trapped beneath the weight of sorrow that threatened to drown her. But Beth was young, and this was her first day on the job. Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing, to offer her this kindness, to befriend her if possible. If in the process of getting to know Beth she could uncover the other woman's intentions and put Lucas's fears to rest, so much the better.

"That's fine," she said, trying and failing to sound casual about it. Beth flashed her a brilliant smile and then trundled off to have her own shower, leaving Ruth alone to her thoughts.

This was going to be an unbearable day.

* * *

As they waited for their train Ruth gave her a quick rundown of the best routes from the flat to Thames House, and the conversation continued quite naturally as they took their seats.

"How long have you worked for Five?" Beth asked curiously, keeping her voice down despite the fact that they were sitting well away from their fellow passengers. Now seemed as good a time as any, to try to get to know the dark-haired woman a little better, and Beth had been wondering what exactly it was she'd signed up for. Was Section D a place where people stayed for years, forming a sort of happy little work family, or was the turnover so high that they never got particularly close to one another?

Ruth bit her lip, her brow furrowing for a moment before answering. "Five of the last seven years," she said finally. "I took a…hiatus, in the middle."

"A hiatus?" Beth asked. There were all sort of reasons one might take time off from work, she supposed, but considering the fact that Ruth had neither a husband nor a child, the only possibilities that came to mind were deeply unpleasant. Had she been wounded, in the field? Had someone close to her died? Beth's natural curiosity spun in to full gear, and she listened closely to Ruth as she spoke again.

"It wasn't my choice," Ruth answered coolly, staring straight ahead. She had tensed up, in the moments since Beth asked her first question, her eyes staring straight ahead and her hands clasped together firmly in her lap. Her shoulders were tight and she carried a certain look of the trapped animal about her, as if at any moment she might spring up and run. Things had begun to thaw between them, and Beth was mentally kicking herself for putting her foot in it so early in their acquaintance.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," she said contritely. She wasn't sorry for asking, not really; she was only sorry that she had asked in such a blunt way. Ruth struck her as the sort of person she'd need to tread lightly around; Ruth was clever and quick, but prickly as a rosebush, and Beth would have to work hard to stay on her good side –and in her spare bedroom. Flat-hunting in London was not an adventure she was particularly looking forward to.

Ruth sighed and began to twist her hands together in her lap. Beth had known her for less than twenty-four hours, and already she had identified this as one of Ruth's little tells. Ruth played with her hands when she felt uncertain or uneasy.

"It's ok, really." She took a deep breath. "Listen, Beth, Five is like a lot any other office environment. A lot of gossiping goes on, behind closed doors. You're bound to hear something about it, eventually, and I just ask that you remember that the only people who know the truth about what happened are me and Harry, because we were there. I won't ask you not to talk to your colleagues; in fact, I encourage it. I'm just asking you to take what you hear with a grain of salt."

Following this statement she shot Beth a little sideways glance, her gaze open but still unsure. Beth got the feeling that Ruth had more secrets than friends, and in the moment, Beth couldn't help but consider how similar they were in that regard, and she wondered if she and this sad, lovely woman could ever learn to trust one another. Friends or not, Beth wasn't sure she'd be able to put aside her memories of Harry's late night visit, and the way Ruth's voice cracked, just a little, when she said his name. Having Ruth on her side, a champion in her corner, would be a huge help to her as she started out, but she still felt a burning desire to find the answers to all her questions. That need to know had always been her biggest downfall, had brought her no end to trouble, but still she pressed on.

"I never put much stock in gossip, anyway," Beth said with a little toss of her head. It was a lie if she'd ever told one; Beth had found that loose lips _do_ sink ships, and that if she were listening to the right people at the right time and played her cards right, she could make a fortune. She had done, on several occasions, but that was what the intelligence business was all about in the end. Gossip was her stock and trade, really.

They both stared out the window for a time, watching London fly by, the city coming alive as the sun rose and burned away the shadows of the night.

"Still, seven years is a long time," Beth said eventually, returning to her original line of questioning. She would press more gently now, give Ruth's tree a little shake and see what fell out. "Do people usually last that long, in this business?"

Ruth gave a small sigh. "No, actually. It's a hard job, between the secrets and the terrible hours and the crap pay. The only person in our Section who's been with Five longer than me is Harry. And Lucas, I suppose. He took a hiatus of his own."

There was that word again. It was clearly a euphemism for something, and based on the expression on Ruth's face, it wasn't anything good. Still, they'd lived through it, Lucas and Ruth, and they were both willing to come into work each day, so maybe the job wasn't all bad. Yesterday's assignment had been downright invigorating, and Beth was eager to sink her teeth into another assignment.

When they arrived at Thames House Ruth greeted the security guards by name and took care of getting Beth checked in, since she didn't have an ID card yet.

"You'll be spending today in training, I'm afraid," Ruth told her as they made their way towards the Grid. "It's still a bit early, so you can spend some time with us this morning, but you'll need to be upstairs with HR by nine."

Beth groaned, and for the very first time, she heard her flatmate laugh.

"It won't be so bad. I heard a rumor that your training will be truncated, given your experience and our desperate need of a new team member."

Based on what Beth knew of Ruth's relationship with her new boss, she supposed that this rumor was more fact than fiction, and reminded herself to be thankful for small mercies.

As they stepped onto the Grid together, Beth noticed that the very first thing Ruth did was glance at Harry's office. The man himself was sitting behind his desk, phone pressed to his ear and pen in hand. He seemed once more to be utterly in control, and Beth could see no evidence of the sadness or uncertainty that had plagued him the night before. Satisfied that all was as it should be, Ruth made her way towards her desk and started getting herself ready for the day.

"That will be your desk," she said, pointing vaguely towards one of two empty workstations nearby. "I think it will be two weeks or so before you're cleared to work down here, but there's no reason you shouldn't get a feel for how things will be, once you are. " Ruth had glanced over at Harry's office again and her eyes had caught there; Beth looked that way just in time to see Harry give a little jerk of his head. Ruth was on her feet immediately. So that was how it was between them at work then; last night in her kitchen Ruth had called the shots, but here on the Grid she deferred to Harry. _Good to know._

"Duty calls," Ruth said softly, before she marched off toward his office. Beth just shook her head and gazed around her new office. There were a few other people milling about, analysts for the most part it seemed, chatting softly. She could hear the sounds of someone arguing on the phone in the French, and the clacking of fingers on keyboards. As she took it all in Beth realized that, for the first time in her entire life, she had a _desk_. In an _office_. This was going to take some getting used to.

* * *

"How's it going, with Beth?" Harry asked her.

 _So it's going to be like that is it?_ Ruth wondered. There was no sign of the man who'd shown up on her doorstep, miserable and half-drunk the night before. This was Harry in full work mode, on the hunt for traitors in their midst. He was on high alert, after the Nightingale fiasco, not that Ruth could blame him. So far she hadn't formed much of an opinion on Beth, as it was; the girl seemed friendly enough, but there was something calculating behind her innocent-seeming questions, and Ruth still couldn't be sure what her new flatmate's endgame was. They would have to wait and see.

"So far so good," she said aloud, absently running her fingers along the edge of Harry's desk. "She hasn't made a mess of my kitchen or tried to sneak anyone in through her bedroom window, but it's early days."

Harry grunted, a sound that might have been a chuckle, if they'd been having this conversation a month ago. "Is everything set, with her training?"

Ruth nodded. "I made the arrangements late last night. She'll get started today, and HR should be finished with her in about two weeks." When she'd been speaking to Beth about training, Ruth had deliberately left out her own involvement; she'd let Beth think her no more than an analyst, let Beth think her harmless and without power, and perhaps the girl might be more likely to open up.

"That's good," he said quietly. He always said that, when he didn't know what else to say. When she agreed to go to dinner with him, when he asked how she was and she said "fine", in all those little moments between them when, for once, things were going well, Harry would say _that's good._ He had never been the most effusive of men, but Ruth had learned how to read between the lines, to decipher the meaning in the most innocuous turn of phrase. Harry said _that's good_ , and what he meant was _thank you for being someone I can count on_ , and Ruth gave him a small, sad smile in return, a smile that said _of course, always._


	4. Chapter 4

Training took two long weeks to complete. They put Beth through her paces, sending her away on exercises to test her firearms competency and her covert skills before drilling her over and over on procedure manuals until she felt she could recite them word for word. She spent ten long hours in the company of a frumpy psychologist, answering questions about her family and her relationship history. She took a drug test and a polygraph test and swore her loyalty to queen and country. At the end of it all, she found herself rather glad to be heading back to Ruth's flat –their flat – the night before her first day as a full-fledged member of the team.

She dragged herself up the front walk and through the door, and found Ruth, as ever, sitting at the kitchen table in front of her laptop.

"Hi," Beth said as she waltzed into the kitchen, going straight for the bottle of wine she'd left in the fridge; Ruth had said, _make yourself at home,_ and Beth had done just that, fitting in her wine and her ready meals between Ruth's piles of fresh vegetables and homemade jams. "Fancy a drink?" she asked as she poured one for herself.

Ruth shook her head. "I've been feeling a bit off, lately. Best not to push it."

Beth just nodded and put the bottle back in the fridge before sitting down at the table with Ruth. She was exhausted, and tired of feeling like she was back at school, studying for exams and trying to make friends with the popular kids. Training was grueling, and deeply unsatisfying for a woman who was so used to living by her own rules.

"Excited for your first day?" Ruth asked kindly.

"I can't wait, honestly," Beth answered. "After the fortnight I've had, hunting down terrorists will seem like a holiday."

Ruth laughed a little at that. "Yes, I suppose it would by comparison. They don't make analysts do the full field training, thankfully, but I've heard stories."

"So you don't get into the field much, then?"

Ruth shook her head. "I have a bad habit of getting into trouble, every time I set foot outside Thames House. I do little things, here and there, but Harry knows better than to send me out on an op unless it's absolutely necessary." Beth studied Ruth while she spoke; over the last few weeks their tenuous friendship had grown somewhat, as on the nights that they were both in the flat and awake at the same time they'd spoken briefly, exchanged harmless stories from their pasts and discussed mundane details like emptying the bin and washing the dishes. Beth's initial impression of Ruth had been that she was kind but reserved, brilliant but compassionate, and so far their interactions had only solidified this perception.

"Is Harry a good boss?" Beth asked impulsively, taking a sip of her wine. In the beginning, she'd promised herself she wouldn't press Ruth for details about their Section Head, but the question seemed natural, under the circumstances, and she genuinely wanted to know.

Ruth's eyes grew strangely soft and far away as she formulated her answer. "Harry is the best boss," she said finally. "He believes whole-heartedly in what we're doing, and he would do anything for any member of his team. He's a good man."

If they were better friends this would be the moment when Beth would pretend to gag and make some comment about how sickly sweet the sentiment was, about how obviously in love with him Ruth was, but they were nowhere near that point yet and so she held her tongue. She'd spent most of her time over the last two weeks with new recruits and their trainers, and so had not heard much of the gossip Ruth had warned her about. As it stood, though, she was actually looking forward to that bit. Any new information on this situation would be welcome.

"That's good," she said, instead of voicing her opinion on the matter. "I'd hate to work for some bureaucratic bastard."

Ruth snorted a little, at that. "So would Harry. He hates politicians and everything that goes along with them." She glanced at the clock, and gave a little sigh. "Time for bed, I think."

Beth nodded. "Sleep well."

Ruth rose from the table and collected her laptop. "You, too."

* * *

In her room Ruth all but collapsed onto her bed. She'd been exhausted and out of sorts for days now. While she often went all day without more than a bite of toast in the morning and a small, home-cooked meal after work, she found her usual routine no longer worked. She was starving half the time, and the other half she was nauseous. On Wednesday she'd even rushed off the Grid, only barely making it to the ladies' before she was rather shockingly ill. Tonight she was dizzy and completely knackered, despite the fact that it had only just gone nine o'clock.

Perhaps a visit to the in-house doctor was in order, but Ruth wasn't sure where she'd find the time; between the research she'd been doing for the Westhouse op and the four different potential A-Q cells Harry had her watching, she barely had time for a cup of tea in the morning, let alone a trip to the doctor. But she'd been having trouble focusing, and this dizziness really was worrying; perhaps she'd just need to _make_ the time.

In the morning, she decided. If she still felt ill in the morning, she would do something about it.

* * *

The next morning, Ruth was up at half five, as usual. Beth went to make the tea, as usual. They passed in the kitchen, Ruth murmuring something about how she was planning to stay so they could ride into work together. It was a nice sentiment, and Beth was grateful for it. There was no point going in separately, after all, and Beth liked having company on the tube.

She was just stepping out of the shower when she heard Ruth knock frantically on the bathroom door. Wrapping herself tightly in a towel, she hurried to open it, and saw her flatmate on the other side, looking slightly green.

"I'm so sorry, Beth, it's just…I think I'm going to be…" Ruth held her hand over her mouth and Beth all but jumped to get out of her way.

"Go, go, it's no problem," Beth told her in a rush. She had only just got the door closed when she heard the sound of Ruth retching and shuddered. If there was one thing Beth Bailey couldn't handle, it was dealing with people who were ill. She decided she'd done everything she needed to in the bathroom, and headed back to her bedroom to get ready for the day, dripping as she went.

In her room Beth stood for a time and stared at her closet in dismay; its contents left a lot to be desired. She'd only had the one bag to start off with, and with training and everything she hadn't had a chance to buy anything new, or bring anything up from storage. That would need to be dealt with quickly, she decided as she tugged on her clothes and dragged a brush through her damp hair. She applied her makeup, using the camera function on her mobile as a mirror, and sighed in a resigned sort of way once she was finished. There was no way she was going back in that bathroom after whatever Ruth had done in there; her hair would just have to air dry on the train. She could put it up when she got to work.

Thus prepared to face the day, she ventured back out, and found Ruth sitting at the table with her head in her hands.

"You feeling all right?" Beth asked her, touching her gingerly on the shoulder in a comforting sort of way. She might hate being around sick people, but that didn't mean she couldn't be sympathetic when the moment called for it.

"I'll be fine," Ruth said from between her fingers. "I think it's passed, whatever it was."

"I can tell Harry you're feeling ill, if you need to go back to sleep."

Ruth shook her head and dragged herself to her feet, looking around for her boots. "No need for that," she said absently.

Perhaps in addition to being the sort of person who went into work three hours early Ruth was also the sort of person who never took a sick day, Beth realized as she watched her flatmate fumble around for her shoes. That sort of dedication to a job had never held any attraction for Beth, who quite enjoyed her free time, thank you very much.

Having located her shoes, Ruth started to make her way towards the door, and Beth fell into step behind her. All thoughts of Ruth's illness disappeared as excitement took hold of Beth. Today was her first day as a proper spook, and she couldn't wait to get going.

* * *

As they rode along Ruth found she could not focus on any of Beth's polite attempts at conversation. An hour ago, she'd felt bloody terrible, and had resolved to go down to see the in-house doctor first thing when they arrived at work. Now, though, she'd managed to eat a bit of toast and was sipping gingerly on her tea, and she felt, well, fine. Fine enough that she managed to talk herself out of going to the doctor just yet. When she got to work she would need to get Beth settled and then bring her up to speed on Westhouse, she'd need to sort out the arrangements at the hotel and work with Tariq on getting everyone kitted out for the upcoming meeting, she had six different translations still waiting and God only knows what fresh hell Harry would have uncovered overnight; yes, the doctor could wait.

Besides, it was Beth's first day as a proper spook, and Ruth was curious to see how it would all pan out.


	5. Chapter 5

Beth's first week as a proper spook turned out to be a bit of a nightmare, in the end. Elevator assassinations and Columbian hit men splattered all over the safehouse, a shootout with some Nigerians, and then, to cap it all off, she'd been fired and re-hired in the space of a few hours. Her head was reeling, by the time she stumbled home after the Westhouse debacle.

But after just one week, this job had sunk its teeth into Beth.

She'd made good money, working for herself, but she'd grown tired of the routine. Grown tired of surrounding herself with shady characters, everyone working their own angle, not a one of them interested in anything other than themselves. She told Harry she wanted to get clean, and she meant it. This week she'd rubbed shoulders with a different caliber of spy, with people like Harry and Ruth and Dimitri and Lucas, people who believed so strongly in what they were doing, who gave everything they had to something greater than themselves. And that experience had changed her.

Acting in the service of a noble cause had never been in Beth Bailey's repertoire, and she was fairly certain she didn't belong here. There had been a moment, just a moment, when she had genuinely considering leaving with Chapman, running away from MI-5 and queen and country and heading straight back into her old life. But she'd gotten a taste of something better, and in the end it was duty that motivated her, rather than self-interest. She felt a duty to protect these people; she had jumped into the line of fire to save Harry without thinking. The person she'd been a month ago never would have done that.

The flat was empty when Beth got home, so she poured herself a glass of wine, turned on the telly, and flopped onto the couch in the sitting room. She'd decided to wait up for Ruth, who had stayed behind to finish up some paperwork related to the Westhouse op. It wasn't necessary, really, but after everything that had happened, Beth very much wanted a few minutes alone with her flatmate. Just a few minutes, to speak to her and reassure her that Beth was in this for the long haul. If their roles were reversed, Beth was fairly certain she'd chuck her traitorous flatmate out on her ear, and she wanted the chance to at least try to smooth things over with Ruth before that happened. With one and thing and another there had been no time to even begin searching for a new flat, and Beth didn't fancy being homeless.

By the time Ruth finally did come stumbling in the door, Beth was perilously close to falling asleep. She rallied when she heard the key in the lock, however, dragging herself to her feet and giving a little shake of her head. Ruth offered her a wan little smile as she passed, and Beth couldn't help but notice how pale and exhausted her friend looked. She kept those thoughts to herself, however, as she followed Ruth into the kitchen.

"Ruth," Beth started, shoving her hands in her pockets. Ruth held up her hand, signaling Beth to be quiet. Beth watched her lean back against the counter and run a hand over her face, rubbing her eyes lightly before speaking.

"Do you feel badly, about how you handled things?" Ruth asked.

"Yes, God, I-"

"Will you ever do anything like this ever again?" Ruth interrupted her.

She responded immediately, and honestly. "No."

Ruth nodded. "Ok, then." She pushed back from the counter and made to leave the kitchen. "Have a good night, Beth."

"Wait, that's it?" Beth asked, incredulous. She knew she really should have kept her mouth shut, should have been grateful to have been let off so easily, but she was so bloody tired and the words just spilled out.

"Listen, Beth," Ruth said, not unkindly, "we all make mistakes. We all have things in our past we're not proud of, things we'd rather not face. It's your first week, and though it started off a bit rough, you ended on a good note. You…" Ruth had started to breathe a little heavier, as she spoke, and her eyes had gone sort of glassy. Beth recognized the signs at the last moment, and lunged across the kitchen just in time to catch Ruth around the middle and slow her descent as the dark-haired woman's eyes rolled back in her head and she lost consciousness. Carefully she eased Ruth to the ground, rolling her on her side and into the recovery position. Satisfied that Ruth was breathing steadily and not convulsing or anything, Beth left her there and dashed across the kitchen, looking for the sugar bowl hidden in one of the cupboards.

They'd only really worked together for a week, but Beth had begun to notice little things about Ruth, and one of those things was that Ruth almost never ate like she was supposed to. Beth had been out of the office for most of the day, but she was willing to bet that Ruth had skipped lunch and dinner both, worked straight through, and then come home and collapsed in her kitchen because her blood sugar had dropped too low. Beth's father had been diabetic, and though he had mostly been good about keeping an eye on his condition, there had been a few times when he had found himself in a similar state. Her mother had always put sugar under his tongue, to bring him round quicker, and that was exactly what Beth intended to do now. If she didn't have Ruth conscious in the next minute she was going to call an ambulance, but she knew that Ruth would absolutely hate the idea of going to hospital. She'd try this first.

Next to the moments she'd spent in the elevator playing dead while a hailstorm of bullets rained around her, it was the longest sixty seconds of her life. What a week.

Ruth's eyelids fluttered open, and Beth breathed a sigh of relief.

"Stay right there," she said, going to the fridge and pulling out a small bottle of apple juice. She poured a measure into a cup and then brought it back to Ruth, carefully helping her into a sitting position with her back braced against the cupboard.

"Drink this," Beth ordered, keeping one hand on the cup and the other on the back of Ruth's head. When the apple juice was gone, Beth sat down and leaned back against the cupboard beside her. Beth's heart was still hammering in her chest; all she could think was how cross Harry would be if something happened to Ruth on her watch.

"What happened?" Ruth asked, twisting her hands together in her lap.

Beth studied her face. Over the last few weeks, Beth had begun to notice things, little things, about Ruth that were sort of…off. She'd never been particularly in tune to other people's health or habits, but some things were simply too obvious to be ignored, and if Ruth wasn't going to face it, then Beth decided she would force the issue.

"You fainted," Beth told her, gauging her reaction.

"I've never done that before," Ruth said, sounding slightly surprised.

"Can I ask you a sort of personal question, Ruth?" _Nothing for it now, Bailey,_ she told herself firmly. _Just say it._

Ruth turned her head, still leaned up against the cupboard, and fixed Beth with a questioning gaze.

"Please don't be cross," Beth soldiered on. "Is there… is there any chance you might be pregnant?"

Ruth laughed out loud, raising her hands to run her fingers through her hair. "I'm sure it's nothing that dramatic, Beth, I just forgot to eat today, that's all."

Beth nodded. She'd expected to encounter resistance to the idea at first, but she had quite a bit of evidence she'd been holding in reserve.

"Maybe," she said. "But I've been living in this flat for three weeks, and in that time you've been ill in the morning on at least six separate occasions. And on the Grid on Tuesday you were cross with Tariq because you said the smell of his lunch was turning your stomach. You've been exhausted, you suddenly can't stand the taste of wine, you-"

"I'm going to be sick," Ruth interrupted, and launched herself to her feet, rushing out of the room and down the hall towards the bathroom.

Beth eased herself to her feet in the wake of Ruth's departure. She had every intention of going after her, but she didn't want to be anywhere near that room if Ruth really was ill. After a moment, she got confirmation that waiting had been a good idea as she heard Ruth retching, yet again. She gave it another minute or two, shifting uneasily on her feet.

This was a bit of an awkward position for Beth to find herself in. She didn't have many women friends, and she had only known Ruth for such a short while, and she had proven herself to be less than trustworthy with her behavior earlier in the week. Apart from not really knowing how to comfort a friend in this situation, Beth was concerned that perhaps Ruth didn't want to _be_ comforted by her. But if Ruth really was pregnant, she needed to know, and it seemed to Beth that the only way they could find out for sure was if she continued to press the issue. Taking a deep breath and retrieving the empty cup from the floor, Beth steeled herself and followed Ruth's path into the bathroom.

Inside, she found Ruth sat back against the wall, knees drawn up against her chest, weeping just like she had on Beth's first night in the flat. Without saying a word Beth filled the empty cup with water and passed it down to her. Ruth accepted it with shaking hands, taking a few sips while she tried to bring her breathing back under control. Beth leaned against the sink and waited patiently for Ruth to break the silence.

"It's been almost six weeks," Ruth said finally, her voice rough and unsteady. Beth sat down on the floor beside her, determined to let her talk, determined to listen and be a friend, if she could. "This is insane," Ruth added, turning the full force of her huge, pleading blue eyes on Beth, who held her gaze without responding. "I'll be thirty-nine on my next birthday. I can't possibly be…" her voice trailed off and her gaze grew distant, as if she'd just remembered something.

"How sure are you about that?" Beth prodded gently. From where Beth was sitting, it didn't just seem possible; it seemed incredibly likely.

"I'm so bloody stupid," Ruth whispered, burying her face in her hands once again.

Beth leaned back against the wall, keeping quiet for now. Ruth didn't really seem like the sort of person who had mad, stupid nights, and Beth couldn't help but think of the conversation she'd overheard between Ruth and Harry three weeks ago. She recalled something about Harry having no regrets and moving on from _this_. A very unpleasant suspicion had taken root in Beth's mind, but she knew better than to say anything about it. The situation was delicate enough already; she had no intentions of making things worse by digging around for answers to questions she had no right to ask.

"Wait right here, ok?" Beth said after it became obvious that Ruth wasn't going to offer any more information. She heaved herself to her feet and below her Ruth just nodded; she probably couldn't have gone anywhere in this state, even if she wanted to.

* * *

Ruth sat on the floor, hugging her knees and praying Beth was wrong. In the year since George had died, the only person she'd slept with was Harry. Just Harry, God only knew how many times across two beautiful, horrible weeks when the very foundations of the life that they'd built came crumbling down around their ears. Two weeks when she'd needed him so badly that she gave no thought to consequences; as she sat on the floor and tried to keep a tight rein on the tears that threatened to overtake her again, she dug through her memories of of each glorious, fragile moment they'd spent in each others' arms, and tried to recall if either of them had ever, even for a moment, stopped to think about the consequences.

The answer to that question was a resounding _no._ Each encounter between them had been so impulsive, so urgent, so lovely in its own way that they had hardly spoken at all, beyond gentle sighs and fervent moans and whispers of one another's names.

How could she have been so _unbelievably_ stupid?

Perhaps part of the cause of her laxity, when it came to birth control, was her very sense of self; she felt so much older than she was, so much more weary than she had any right to be, and she was so certain that a family of her own was beyond her reach that somewhere in the darkest part of her heart she believed the universe itself agreed. After all, fate had stepped in once before, when she'd come back from Cyprus.

 _God,_ but she hadn't thought about that in such a long time. She shivered as she sat on the cold tile floor, hugged her knees, and remembered.

The day before Mani's agents had arrived on her front doorstep, turning her sanctuary into a deathtrap, she'd taken a pregnancy test, and she'd sat and stared at it for a long time after, wondering what in the bloody hell she was going to do. Having a baby had never been part of her plan, even though at the time she was convinced that she was safe from her old enemies. George would have been overjoyed, she knew, but all she felt, upon discovering that she was carrying his child, was dismay. _What would Harry say?_ She'd asked herself, and cried for hours, while George was at work and Nico was at school, and she was alone with her grief and her fear.

And then her whole world had turned upside down, and they'd been forced to flee before she had the chance to tell George. In all the chaos surrounding her return to London, finding a bolt-hole and contacting Malcolm and feeling like a real spook again, she'd almost forgotten about it, until Mani marched her into that room, and sat her down in a chair across from Harry.

She had gazed into his eyes and felt certain that he knew, that with just one look he could take in the truth of her, and see that she was carrying another man's child. It had horrified her, and she'd been flooded with shame at her reaction to seeing him again. She couldn't help but feel that she'd betrayed them both somehow, betrayed Harry by being with George in the first place, betrayed George by falling into his bed when her heart belonged to another. There were eyes everywhere, and she could not speak to Harry properly, could not fling herself at him and explain everything she'd been through, without him, could not tell him that she'd found peace in someone else's arms but that all the while, she'd been thinking of him.

So she kept her secret to herself, then, and when he asked her how she felt about George, all she could say was _I feel very…guilty._

And _Christ_ , but she felt guilty, knowing that she'd put George in danger, put his child – both of his children – in danger, simply by being who she was, simply by being the one person Harry could count on, no matter what, always.

After George died, some nameless agent had driven her to another little flat, where Nico sat, scared and alone. That had been one of the most terrible moments of her entire life - worse even than watching the bullet pierce George's skull, watching his lifeless body fall to his knees – telling that sweet little boy that his father would never, ever be coming home. She couldn't tell him the truth, couldn't explain about the uranium and the tired man with beautiful eyes who looked at her like she contained every star in the universe within her flesh. She could only tell him that his father was gone, that he would be going home alone, and then hold him while he cried.

The very next day, at his aunt's insistence, Nico boarded a plane to go back to Greece, and Ruth refused to get out of bed until the cramps in her belly grew too painful to be ignored, and she stumbled into the bathroom to find herself covered in blood. There was only one person she could call, in her moment of distress, and so she did, and Jo came and collected her and drove her to hospital and held her hand while the doctor said words like _trauma_ and _spontaneous abortion._ It was stress, they said; she wasn't very far gone and her body had entered fight or flight mode, dispensing with the pregnancy in a desperate, animal attempt to save itself.

She had always believed she wasn't meant to have children of her own, and that horrible night had seemed like nothing so much as proof of that fact. Her very body had betrayed her, had acted as selfishly as she had, and despite the fact that she'd had no control over it, still she felt guilty. Worse than guilty. _We've forfeited the chance for that sort of life,_ she'd told Harry so many months later, thinking of George and Nico and the baby that wasn't, thinking of Harry's ex-wife and his son and his daughter. They had chosen their path, and family wasn't a part of it.

Losing that baby had broken her heart, but she had taken some solace in the fact that she would never have to explain George's death to another child. She had believed she could go on being Ruth, quiet, bookish Ruth, just Ruth, and never have to touch on those feelings again.

Now here she was, and as she added up all the evidence Beth had supplied her, she came to the same conclusion; she was pregnant. She felt the same way now that she had then, before she left Cyprus, and that absolutely bloody terrified her. What the hell was she going to tell Harry? What would he say? What would happen if she told him, and then lost this baby, too? What would break him more completely, having a child with her, or _almost_ having a child with her?

By the time Beth came back into the bathroom, she was very nearly hysterical again.


	6. Chapter 6

When Beth re-entered the bathroom, she found Ruth glassy-eyed and gasping slightly, almost choking as she fought to breathe and keep her tears at bay simultaneously. The sight tugged at Beth's heartstrings, her long buried empathy coming to light at last. Ruth had been so kind to her, so forgiving of her betrayal and so willing to make a space for her in this flat, in her life, that Beth felt responsible in a way, felt a duty to protect her heart and stand beside her as she faced this new reality that so clearly terrified her. Were their roles reversed, Beth could just imagine how supportive Ruth would be, her thoughtful and compassionate and almost maternal nature coming to the fore as together they worked through the mess and came up with a plan. Beth took a deep breath and crossed to the other side of the room, reaching out to squeeze Ruth's shoulder lightly as she lowered herself to the floor.

It was plain to Beth why Ruth was so distraught; if she and Harry _had_ carried on some illicit affair, some quiet, shadowy something that had imploded as spectacularly as Beth believed it had done, and Ruth was pregnant as a result of _that_ , of course she would be devastated and terrified. Who wouldn't be, in her shoes, pregnant with the child of a man she was still struggling to remove from her heart, a man she had to see every day and from whom she could not hide?

"Here," Beth said quietly, proffering the little box. Such an innocuous little thing, its packaging simple and bright, and yet it had such potential to alter the course of a life.

Ruth recoiled from it as if it were a snake, and Beth couldn't blame her.

"It's just a test. If it's negative, we can forget this ever happened. And if it's not…" her voice trailed off as she watched Ruth run her hands over her face, "If it's not, then you'll know."

"Why the bloody hell do you have one of those just lying around?" Ruth asked from behind her fingers, and Beth very nearly laughed. She'd spoken in that same dry, sardonic tone of voice Beth had heard on her first night in the flat, when Harry had come round and Ruth had tried valiantly to keep things light between them. Even now, in her time of grief and need, Ruth was making some attempt at normality, and Beth had to admire her for her strength.

"I always have one in my bag," Beth explained truthfully. "You never know when one might come in handy."

Ruth's eyebrow shot up into her hairline, and Beth found herself hastening to clarify. "I was on an op, in some Middle Eastern hellhole, and I had a test in my bag. This big scary bloke with a machete was threatening to kill me, and I lied and told him I was pregnant. Showed him the box and everything. He didn't believe me, and told me to go to prove it, not realizing there was a window in the bathroom. He closed the door and I jumped, and I've kept one with me ever since. Maybe we ought to put it to its intended use."

For a long moment Ruth did not reply, nor did she reach for the little white box. She simply sat, hands clasped tightly together in her lap now, knuckles pale from the strain of keeping her emotions in check. Beth watched her carefully, on the look out for signs of another imminent breakdown, but thankfully Ruth held herself together, eventually releasing one more bone-deep sigh before reaching out with trembling hands.

"I'll go make us some tea," Beth said, clambering awkwardly to her feet and offering her hand to Ruth. In the instant their hands met, Beth realized for the first time just how very small Ruth was, and how much younger she was than she first appeared. Not even forty yet, and clearly terrified, she presented such a picture of vulnerability that it quite took Beth by surprise.

She'd been listening on comms, during the tail-end of the Abib operation, when Lucas had been trying to get Talwar to back down and Ruth had been trying to get Harry to acquiesce to the use of the EM pulse bomb. Beth remembered the steely sound of Ruth's voice, her absolute certainty, and she remembered the way Harry had caved, relying on this small, fragile woman so completely, making an impossible decision _because she told him to._ Ruth was formidable, head and shoulders above everyone else in the room intellectually, with a quiet, understated power so deep that she held Harry bloody Pearce of all people beneath her sway. It was difficult to reconcile these two women, the Ruth of the Grid so focused and determined and calculating in every deed, and the Ruth of her home so small and scared and delicate; how could they be one and the same?

And yet they were, and somehow she was both, standing there looking lost and forlorn in her own bathroom.

"I'll make some toast as well, you really should eat something," Beth added, and then left her to it, closing the door behind her as she padded back to the kitchen on silent feet.

* * *

Ruth did what she need to do and then left the innocuous little stick that contained the sum of her entire future sitting on the edge of the sink to percolate for the few minutes needed to decide her fate.

She was so grateful to Beth, for saying what needed to be said no matter how difficult, for not asking _who,_ for making tea and a bit of toast and not indulging in histrionics over her fainting spell in the kitchen. In fact, Beth reminded her rather forcefully of Jo in that regard, and as she made her way out of the bathroom and down the hall, she found her thoughts drifting back to Jo, her last real friend, another bright-shining star extinguished far too soon.

They shared a certain look about them, Jo and Beth, a certain softness, a certain femininity, though Jo had more of the doe-eyed look about her, especially during her early days on the Grid. Jo had been sweet where Beth was coy, ingenuous where Beth was calculating, but they were both so young, so eager to do this work, to make a difference in their world. Lovely, the pair of them, but with steel in their bones, hard and unshakeable. Like Beth, Jo had offered her help without question, had come to collect her in the middle of the night without ever once demanding explanation. Ruth had leaned on her so much, during those few weeks between her return from exile and her reinstatement on the Grid. Of the team, Jo was the only who came round to see her in that little safehouse, had brought her food and books and talked to her about anything but work. Ruth knew now the extent of the horror Jo had faced, but never once did the girl mention it. She had kept their conversations light and hopeful, the pain well-hidden behind her luminous eyes. Ruth had seen it, though, had glimpsed that sorrow, perhaps because it was a feeling she herself knew so well. Like recognizes like, and in Jo she had found a comrade, a woman who had also bled and broken and lost.

With a sigh Ruth seated herself at the table, and picked disinterestedly at the tea and toast Beth set down before her.

Jo was the only person Ruth ever told, about the baby that never was, and like a good friend, Jo had taken that secret with her to the grave. She never mentioned it, never mentioned the way Ruth had sobbed, shattered and ruined, sheltered in the circle of her friend's comforting embrace. _It's not your fault,_ she'd whispered consolingly, and all the while Ruth was shrieking inside _yes it is._

In the end it was Jo who brought Ruth back to the Grid, brought her home. Before their conversation that day on the steps, Ruth had been adrift, mourning not just for George and Nico and the baby but for the life she'd left behind two years before, all those old wounds split open as she had to face the consequences of the path she'd chosen. Returning to Thames House gave her back her sense of purpose, and that was all down to Jo, and her quiet insistence that Ruth was needed there. _We've missed you,_ the girl had said earnestly, _but no one more than Harry._

 _Oh, Harry._

Before Ruth could be drawn once more into contemplating the horror of explaining this latest development to him, Beth broke the silence.

"I think we've waited long enough, Ruth," the girl said, a worried expression on her face. Ruth recognized that look all too well; Jo, and Ros, and Lucas, and Malcolm, they had all worn that look the day she returned from Cyprus, when they had explained to her what had happened to Harry and waited to see if she would crumble beneath the weight of her fear for him. Ever since her return, those who knew her well had always treated her as if she were made of glass, as if the slightest pressure would cause her to fracture irreparably. She resented it then, and she resented it now. Beth knew nothing about her, what she'd been through, what she'd seen. Yes, she'd fainted, and yes, she'd been a bit weepy, tonight, but she was Ruth bloody Evershed; she had died and been reborn, had held the fate of the nation in her trembling hands, and still she stood. Her heart might break, but never her resolve.

Beth was right though; it was time to go back and face the truth, whatever it may be.

* * *

Ruth had been silent since her return from the bathroom, and as they trooped back down the hall together, Beth felt a surge of apprehension about what might happen next. Ruth had drawn in herself, perhaps not surprising given that she was analyst down to her very bones, the sort of woman who had to process everything internally before she ever made a move. Still, Beth was worried about her, worried about how she might react when faced with a reality she could not ignore. They had already started down this path, however, and there was no turning back.

In the bathroom, it only took a moment for Ruth to glance at the test on the counter and register the answer to her question. Wordlessly, she stepped back from the sink, covering her face in her hands for a moment, and Beth peered around her curiously, knowing what she'd find, but anxious to see it any way.

 _Positive._

 _Bloody hell._

Ruth was pregnant.

Yet again, Ruth sank to the floor. This seemed to be her default position; unable to run from her problems, unable to face them, her legs simply buckled beneath the pressure and she folded in on herself. Beth felt a certain sense of solidarity with Ruth, a certain duty to help this sad, lovely woman who could turn to no one else in this moment of distress. Ruth did not have friends, as far as Beth could see; the only person Ruth spoke to outside of Thames House was Harry, and the phone calls between them were always strictly, painfully work-related. There were no pictures anywhere in the flat, no casual "I'm going to see my mum for the weekend, could you feed the cat?" This was not the sort of thing she should have to face alone, and Beth felt keenly the need to be there for her.

"What am I going to do?" Ruth asked, her voice muffled she still had her face buried in her hands. It was a rhetorical question, Beth knew, but still she felt compelled to answer it.

"In the morning, we'll call the doctor and make an appointment for you to get checked out. You don't have to make any decisions, right away, but you do need to make sure you're all right. No more skipping lunch, yeah?"

Ruth let a small, strangled sound that might have been a laugh, or might have been a sob.

Beth crossed the tiny room, and squatted down in front of her so that her face was on a level with Ruth's.

"It will be ok, Ruth. I'll go with you, if you'd like."

Her words shocked Ruth out of her reverie; the older woman lowered her hands, and stared at Beth in surprise.

"You don't have to be alone, if you don't want to be," Beth continued, and Ruth gave her a watery smile.

"Thank you, Jo," she said softly.

Time itself seemed to freeze as Ruth realized that she'd misspoken, and something deep inside her shattered. Beth didn't know who Jo was, though she assumed she didn't really _want_ to know, based on the way Ruth began to cry again. Everything moved in slow motion, as Ruth's eyes grew wide with horror, and the deep, bone-shaking sobs began to tear out of her, each more painful to watch than the last. Beth tried her best to comfort her, reaching out to her impulsively, but Ruth jerked back, shaking her head violently as she collapsed in on herself.

This level of hysteria was not something Beth was accustomed to, and it frightened her beyond all reason. She had to find some way to get to Ruth, to calm her down, and so she did the only thing that made sense. She ran from the bathroom as quickly as she could, collected her mobile, and dialed the first number that came to mind.

Mercifully, he answered after just one ring.

"Harry, it's Beth," she said, her words tumbling out of her in a rush before she could think better of it. "Ruth needs you."


	7. Chapter 7

"I'm on my way," Harry said shortly, hanging up without any further inquiry, for which Beth was thankful. He might not be the best choice, given that it was most likely Harry who had gotten Ruth into this state in the first place, but she couldn't help but recall Ruth's words to her on the train to Thames House that first morning. _The only people who know the truth about what happened are me and Harry, because we were there._ Perhaps the same was true in this instance, as well, and the only person who could help Ruth, who could understand her pain and bring her round, was the same man who had broken her heart in the first place.

Beth trudged back down the hallway, listening to Ruth's agonizing sobs only growing in intensity as the minutes ticked by. She tried to enter the bathroom again, but Ruth waved her off, only just managing to choke out the words, "Leave. Me. Alone." Beth couldn't abandon her in good conscience, so she sat down on the floor in the hallway, her back leaned up against the wall right beside the door, and listened to Ruth cry.

There was more going on here, she suspected, than Ruth just being upset about the pregnancy. She wondered if this Jo, and the boxes piled high in Ruth's closet, and the _hiatus_ Ruth had taken from work were all connected somehow, wondered for the thousandth time what Ruth had been through, in the name of defending the realm. Was this to be her fate as well? Beth had to ask herself. In coming to work for MI-5, had Beth resigned herself to a life of isolation, of heartbreak and horror? Ten years from now, would it be her weeping alone in the bathroom of some soulless flat, with no one but a confused colleague to offer her comfort?

It was in the midst of this reverie that she heard the sound of someone at the door. Before she could drag herself to her feet, Harry appeared, having evidently picked the lock and walked right in. Though it was late, he was still wearing his work clothes, dark trousers and a thoroughly wrinkled shirt, his gold tie still in place, if somewhat askew. He marched down the hall towards her, his face like a thundercloud, but Beth was so exhausted, so mentally and physically and emotionally drained, that she could not bring herself to stand to face him.

"What happened?" he asked curtly, wincing slightly as Ruth let forth a particularly loud, animal sound of pain.

"No idea," Beth said. It was half truth and half lie, and the most she could give him. It wasn't her place, to explain about the night's most shocking revelation. Ruth was the only one who could tell him that, if and when she was ready. "She called me _Jo,_ and then she started to cry, and she hasn't stopped."

Harry's expression grew even grimmer, if such a thing was possible. He squared his shoulders like a man about to face the gallows, and marched into the bathroom.

For a long time Beth stayed where she was, listening as Ruth's cries gradually grew softer and slower. If Harry was speaking to her, it was in a voice too low for Beth to hear.

It was sort of sweet, she thought, in a terribly depressing sort of way, that Harry had come straight over, never mind the hour, never mind that Beth had offered no explanation of what he might find. Not only that, he hadn't even stopped long enough to knock on the door, shoving his way in as quickly as he could, his need to see her overwhelming any moral objections he might have had regarding breaking and entering. Beth didn't know, might not ever know, everything that had passed between Ruth and Harry, but she knew that Harry relied on Ruth, and based on the fact that she could no longer hear her flatmate weeping, it would seem that Ruth relied on him as well. Perhaps Ruth wasn't completely alone, after all.

When Ruth had been quiet for several minutes, Beth finally found the strength to stumble to her feet, and peeked into the bathroom.

Harry was sitting on the floor beside Ruth, both his arms wrapped around her, her face buried in the front of his shirt. He was running both his hands up and down her back, and for a moment Beth could have sworn she heard him humming softly. The image before her was so incongruous with the Harry she thought she knew, the man who had stared across his desk at her only a few hours before and damned her as a betrayer. This Harry was gentle, and kind, and so painfully, obviously, hopelessly in love with the brokenhearted woman he sheltered in his arms. That love radiated out of him, from his very pores, shining like a beacon on a stormy night. That love made Beth's breath catch in her throat. She'd never been one for sentimentality, but she thought the tableau before her was quite the sweetest, most devastating thing she'd ever seen in her entire life.

"I think the worst of it has passed," Harry said softly, catching Beth's eye over Ruth's head. He carefully disentangled himself from Ruth, never quite letting her go, and rose to his feet to the sound of his knees cracking. He looked down at Ruth for a moment, as if considering his options, before he slipped one arm beneath her own, wrapping securely around her back, and slid the other beneath her knees. Ruth appeared to be half asleep, but she managed to drape her arms around his neck, holding him tightly while he lifted her carefully into his arms. As Beth realized what was happening she rushed ahead of him down the hall to open Ruth's bedroom door. Harry met her there a moment later, his face showing the strain of carrying Ruth like this, but his steps sure and never faltering.

Tenderly he lay Ruth down on her bed, and Beth watched from the doorway, feeling like a voyeur of the worst sort as Harry removed her flatmate's shoes, and covered her gently with the duvet. Ruth murmured something intelligible, and Harry responded by brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, standing by her side for a moment as though trying to reassure himself that she really was all right.

 _He'd make a good father,_ Beth thought sadly to herself, _if he ever gets the chance._

Before she could make herself scarce Harry turned around, and saw her standing there in the doorway. Beth blushed slightly, all too aware that she wasn't supposed to bear witness to this most private of moments, and took a step back into the hall. Harry joined her there a moment later, pulling the door closed silently behind him.

"Will you stay, for a bit?" Beth asked before she could stop herself. "It's just that, if she wakes up, and gets upset again…"

Harry ran a hand over his tired face, but nodded his assent.

"I'll make us some tea," Beth said, and together they made their way back to the kitchen.

Beth's mother always made tea, to celebrate, to mourn, to console, to start her day, to end it, to give herself something to do with her hands, and whenever Beth felt at loose ends, unsure of what path she should take, she always fell back on tea. Harry offered no objections, so Beth set about heating the kettle up again, clearing the remains of the tea and toast she and Ruth had attempted to eat earlier in the evening. Harry was quiet while she worked; if Ruth had told him about the pregnancy, he made no mention of it.

"If you don't mind me asking, Harry, who is Jo?" Beth inquired as she set a mug of hot, sweet tea in front of him. Harry gave her a half-hearted smile in thanks, and leaned back against his chair, his small, dark eyes watching her like a hawk, searching her face in a way that told her he was sizing her up, trying to decide just how far he could trust her.

"She was on the team, before you came to us. Jo and Ruth were quite close. I suppose you probably remind Ruth of her; in some ways you're very similar." Beth could only hope that was a good thing.

"And what happened to her?" Beth still wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she _needed_ to ask, needed to hear the truth that had left Ruth so utterly brokenhearted.

"She was shot in the chest on Ruth's first day back on the job." Harry said the words rather quickly, as though if they lingered too long on his lips he might be forced to face the harshness of them, as though he could not bring himself to examine them too closely. "She died."

 _Christ._

They were both quiet for a time, Harry remembering, Beth wondering. She had thought it would be easier, making sacrifices for the security of others, rather than constantly seeking out her own personal gain. She had thought she would sleep better at night, knowing she was doing the right thing. As she quietly sipped her tea, the sounds of Ruth's anguished sobs echoing in her ears, she realized she'd been a fool. There was nothing easy about this life they'd chosen. There was nothing simple about the sacrifices they had to make. Ruth, Harry, Lucas; they were none of them safe, none of them whole, none of them well. And they were all that stood between their beloved realm, and utter ruin.


	8. Chapter 8

Ruth woke the next morning, gritty-eyed and starving, with absolutely no idea how she'd managed to make it into bed. She remembered her conversation with Beth, remembered looking at the pregnancy test in horror, remembered calling Beth by the wrong name, but everything after that was darkness. As she lay there, valiantly trying to marshal her thoughts, she vaguely recalled having a dream about Harry, about his warm embrace and his soft words, the sound of him humming to soothe her as he might a frightened child. It was a sweet dream, too gentle to be real, and she gave her head a little shake as if to banish the very thought. No matter how she might long for him, she was certain he had not come to her in the night. How could he have? How could he have known how desperately she needed him, how could he have known her heart was cracked and bleeding, mourning for so many different people that she could hardly keep track of them all? How could he have comforted her, this woman who had spurned him, scorned him, told him they could never be happy together?

 _Take a deep breath,_ she told herself. _Breathe, and think._

Beth was right, she decided as she marched down the hall to the bathroom. She needed to see a doctor, sooner rather than later, and she needed to come up with a plan.

The water helped to ease her aching limbs, the heat of it and the familiar scent of her soaps and shampoo clearing her mind. _I can't tell him yet,_ she reasoned as she stood beneath the spray. Most miscarriages happen during the first trimester, she remembered the doctor telling her last year. She couldn't be very far along; it had been barely two months since Ros's death, and she did some quick math in the shower, counting off days on her fingers and deciding that she must have gotten pregnant near the beginning of those two weeks she'd spent in Harry's bed. _Another month,_ she told herself. _Wait one more month._ She could not bear the thought of telling Harry, of dragging him into this nightmare with her, only to lose the baby and break his heart yet again. Yes, she would wait, wait until there was no turning back from this, until she absolutely could not keep the secret a moment longer.

As she washed away the sorrow of the night before, she trailed her hands along the smooth, soft skin of her stomach, thinking. Funny, that underneath her flat ( _well, mostly flat,_ she amended in her mind) stomach there lay a tiny person, so tiny that she could not even perceive its existence, beyond the havoc her hormones had wrought over the last few days. A tiny little person, half Harry, half Ruth, entirely unique. What would it look like? she wondered. How would she ever explain any of this to a child?

Her thoughts drifted to Wes Carter, whom she saw once or twice a month, sometimes accompanying the boy and Harry on their trips to the dog track, making disapproving noises while watching the pair of them conspiring with fondness in her heart. Little Wes, growing like a weed, with his father's fair complexion and his mother's impish smile, completely abandoned in this world as a direct result of his parents' choices. Would she do the same to this little one? Would she continue down the path she'd chosen for herself, choose to stand on the wall alongside Harry until death and destruction claimed them both? Who would take their child to the track? she wondered. Which "aunt" or "uncle" would quietly take their child to the side, when he was old enough, and explain the truth of his parents' demise?

 _Oh God,_ she thought, exasperated with herself as the tears threatened to fall again. _Get a grip._

* * *

When Ruth walked into the kitchen, showered and dressed, fresh-faced and completely in control of herself, Beth breathed a sigh of relief. She had been worried, upon waking, that Ruth might be catatonic after last night's torrent of emotions, too drained to function, but it appeared that she'd gotten herself well in hand.

"I'm sorry," Ruth said from the doorway, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. "About last night. You were wonderful, and you deserve better than having all my troubles dumped on you like that."

For a moment Beth could not find her voice. What exactly was she supposed to say to that? _It's quite all right, think nothing of it, please don't be cross with me for calling your ex-lover round to talk you down?_

"I was happy to help," she said finally.

Ruth nodded, satisfied, and crossed the kitchen, heading for the tea Beth had prepared. They'd gone through rather a lot of it, in the last twenty-four hours, and Beth made a mental note to pick more up on her way home from work. And then it hit her – _oh shit_ – but before she could say a word Ruth reached the same conclusion, dropping her travel mug back down on the counter with a sigh.

"I'm not supposed to have tea, am I?" Ruth asked wryly.

 _No tea,_ Beth agreed silently, _and no wine, oh God, what is she going to do?_

"I think herbal tea's all right," Beth supplied helpfully, "you know, as long as it doesn't have caffeine in it."

"I suppose I'll get the full list when I go to see the doctor," Ruth said, leaning back against the counter, wringing her empty hands. "No soft cheeses."

"No swordfish," Beth added. She couldn't quite remember where she'd heard that, but she was pretty sure it was on the list.

"No sushi."

Ruth was actually smiling, Beth realized as she watched her. She was _smiling._ Last night she'd been crying so hard she couldn't breathe, and this morning she was smiling. Whatever Harry had said to her, apparently it had done the trick, and Beth was relieved that Ruth seemed so much more at peace with her situation now. Maybe this could be fun, she thought as she bid Ruth good-bye and headed off to have her own shower. Maybe they could do all those girly sorts of things Beth had never had a chance to do with her friends before, window shop for baby things and bicker about names. Maybe Beth could help decorate the nursery-

 _Oh shit, the nursery._

There were only two rooms in the flat, and Beth was sleeping in the spare. How long could Beth stay here, now that Ruth was expecting? When would she need to be gone? Should she stick around for a while after the baby was born, help Ruth with nappies and things? Would Harry try to reconcile with Ruth, try to talk her into moving into his? If he did, what would happen to the flat?

The questions swirled round and round her head as she went through her morning routine, feeling a bit selfish for being so worried about her own future when Ruth was the one about to have a bloody baby, not her. Through it all, though, she realized she quite liked the thought of being "Auntie Beth", of slipping the baby sweets and teaching him curse words when he was older, laughing at the look of horror on his mother's face and claiming innocence all the while. If they had to, she thought she and Ruth might make an all right team, looking after a little one, if things with Harry didn't work out well.

 _Christ, Harry._

Beth was operating under the assumption that the baby was Harry's, after all. Ruth had not offered a single word of explanation, on the subject of paternity, but the way Harry had come to her last night, the way he had held her, the way she allowed him to comfort her, all spoke to the intimate nature of the relationship between them. In Beth's mind, the fact that they had been lovers once, however briefly, was a forgone conclusion. It was just that thinking about whatever they had done, whatever had resulted in this little surprise, made Beth feel slightly…squeamish; she didn't want to picture Harry in those sorts of incriminating positions, particularly not with _Ruth_ , but there was no denying the magnetism between the pair of them, the invisible cord that bound them, kept them dancing closer and closer, never quite touching.

Had Ruth told him yet? Beth wondered. There was no sign of the pregnancy test in the bathroom, buried as it was beneath a pile of spent tissues at the bottom of the bin. Had Ruth already thrown it away before he arrived, or had he seen it the moment he entered the bathroom?

 _Not one bloody word, Bailey,_ she told herself sternly. She couldn't very well ask Ruth if she'd told him, couldn't run the risk of voicing her suspicions aloud and bringing Ruth's wrath down on her before she had a plan in place. Conversely, she couldn't say anything to Harry, without knowing how much he'd been told; Ruth would be livid, she knew, if he heard the news from anyone else. The safest course of action would be to simply keep her mouth shut.

So she would keep her peace for now, and follow Ruth's lead, whatever course she chose to take.

* * *

By a stroke of good fortune, Ruth managed to arrange a doctor's appointment for that very afternoon, under the name Louisa Ramsay, a legend she used sometimes when dealing with members of the general public. It wouldn't do to visit the in-house doctor, or even use her real name; she couldn't risk having this pregnancy added to her file, revealed to her boss as a matter of procedure before she was ready to face him herself.

The only obstacle in her path at the moment was figuring out a way to sneak out for a few hours without arousing Harry's suspicions. Things were supposed to be a bit slow today, just clean up from the Westhouse debacle and routine surveillance, but Ruth's pattern of intense devotion to her work was so well established that she could think of no plausible explanation for ducking out early. None of the excuses she came up with as she stood alone on the roof, mobile in hand, sounded even remotely truthful, and she began to worry about how she could possibly manage to hide a secret like this for the month she'd decided on. Ruth was a spook down to her bones, could lie to anyone with aplomb and not a trace of guilt; anyone, except Harry. Harry, who knew her better than she knew herself, who could read her thoughts in just a gaze, who cradled her heart in his battle-scarred hands, would never believe her if she dared lie to him.

There was really only one thing to do.

Taking a deep breath, she turned once more to her mobile, pressing the second speed-dial button.

"Beth?" she said when the girl answered. "I need a favor."

* * *

The day dragged by, each minute seeming longer than the last as Beth stared at the clock and spun her pen idly between her fingers. She was still the new girl, given only light duties while Harry and Lucas tried to decide just how far they could trust her. On the Grid, Harry was closeted away in his office, phone glued to his ear, while Lucas and Dimitri finalized their plans for the next operation and Ruth directed a veritable army of analysts and translators with all the skill of a drill sergeant.

A little after 10:00 a.m. Ruth phoned her from the rooftop, asking for a favor. She'd arranged a doctor's appointment, set for 3:00 p.m., and she needed to be out of the office no later than 2:15 to get there on time. Beth had been surprised, when Ruth asked for her help, but she'd been all too happy to agree to her flatmate's madcap scheme. For one thing, it solidified Beth's belief that Harry was to be kept in the dark about the pregnancy for now, and for another, it gave her a chance to prove her loyalty to Ruth. Also, it sounded like it might just be fun.

The plan was rather simple. As soon as she hung up with Ruth, Beth went to Harry, and told him that she had a contact from her days in the private sector, an asset who could help them keep abreast of developments within a rapidly growing anti-immigration group. Of course, Harry wasn't quite ready to trust Beth out on her own, but Dimitri and Lucas were too busy to go gallivanting off around London with her. It was at that point that Beth suggested Ruth as a possible babysitter, explaining that they had discussed it earlier in the week, and that Ruth had expressed a willingness to go along with it.

They thought the plan might work, because Harry trusted Ruth so implicitly, or it might backfire, because he trusted Beth not at all, and would not want to see Ruth harmed as a result of the girl's actions. If they were lucky, and Harry agreed, it would also give them both cover for any future appointments Ruth would need to make. Ruth had even come up with a probable name for the asset (Richard something-or-other, Beth had already forgotten), and agreed to enter him in the system, if necessary.

Luck had been with her after all, and Harry had rather reluctantly signed off on their little adventure.

 _All clear. Leaving at 2:00._

Beth fired the message off, and leaned back against her chair, waiting for Ruth's response. After a moment, she heard the soft _ding_ signaling Ruth's reply.

 _Thank you,_ it said.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. I'm having quite a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you're having fun reading it. I promise there will be more Harry soon.**

* * *

"You don't have to come with me," Ruth said softly as they waited together at the bus stop around the corner from Thames House. "You could go have a coffee, or something, and just meet me after."

How very typically Ruth, Beth thought to herself, not wanting to cause trouble, not wanting to put her out, when it was Beth who had volunteered to go with her in the first place. Beth _wanted_ to go, wanted to make sure that Ruth was all right, to ensure there wasn't a repeat of last night's breakdown, or, if such a scene could not be avoided, to ensure that Ruth wasn't alone. Besides, she'd already offered, and it wasn't in her nature to back down, once she had decided on a course of action.

"I'm going," Beth said, adding, "if that's all right," when she realized how forcefully she'd spoken. Ruth just nodded, and hugged herself tightly round the middle.

As they waited for the bus, Beth turned over her suspicions in her mind, wondering if perhaps she had been wrong about Ruth and Harry. That they had some sort of dark, intimate history was plain to see; after just one week of working with them in close quarters she'd clearly observed the way they spoke without words, the way they gravitated naturally towards one another, Ruth sitting at his right hand in the briefing room, Harry standing too close to her when she ventured into his office. But Ruth had been so distraught, so devastated, so completely torn to pieces by this news, and Beth had only ever seen Harry be kind to her; what if this child wasn't Harry's at all, and that was the source of Ruth's sorrow? It would make sense in a way, she thought, if someone else had come between them, if there was sorrow of another sort hiding behind Ruth's glorious eyes.

Beth studied her flatmate surreptitiously as they boarded the bus. Ruth was quite pretty, in a soft, understated sort of way; her eyes had a way of grabbing hold of you, and refusing to let you go. She was small, soft and delicately built, with a warm, low voice you couldn't help but listen to. Was she the sort of woman who could inspire such passions? Beth asked herself. That Harry loved her was plain, but could she have snared another, a man who did not share her grief and perhaps brought her some small amount of relief, in denying her pain?

Did it really matter?

"How long?" Beth asked her.

Ruth shot her a mortified sort of look, as her mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion, and Beth rushed to explain her question.

"How long before you tell Harry? He is your boss, Ruth, you can't hide this from him forever. He needs to know, in case he tries to send you out in the field."

Ruth sighed. "Another month," she said quietly. "I'll wait another month. Harry never sends me into the field, he knows better. And besides, I'm not an invalid, I can do my job."

They sat quietly for a time, as Beth mulled over her words. A month seemed a reasonable amount of time, to her mind. Ruth could wait, and tell Harry before she really started to show, and buy herself the time she needed to come up with a plan. And while Ruth planned for her future, Beth needed to look after her own. Once this appointment was done, and Ruth had had a few days to think things through, Beth would raise the issue of her staying in the flat. If Ruth wanted her gone, she'd need to start looking for a new place immediately. The thought filled her with dread, but oddly, it wasn't fear for herself. She couldn't stand to imagine Ruth alone in that flat, distressed and crying and completely abandoned. And wasn't that a funny thing? Since she was fifteen, Beth's first and only thought had been herself, her own needs, her own wants, her own survival. And now, she found herself consumed with worry for another.

* * *

The doctor had raised an eyebrow, when Ruth insisted that Beth come in with her, but in the end the woman acquiesced, allowing "Louisa" and her sister to come back to the examination room together. Perhaps Doctor Peters noticed how very sad her new patient looked, perhaps she sensed there was some sort of tragic story here, and recognized how badly Louisa needed support in this moment. For whatever reason, she gave a curt nod, and shepherded them back together, chatting pleasantly about the weather in a way that set Ruth's teeth on edge.

Doctor Peters weighed her, and took her blood pressure, and then sat her down on the table, and started in with the questions.

"Right then," she said amicably, "do you have an idea of how far along you are?"

Ruth felt her stomach clench, and fought the urge to glance nervously at Beth. It was quite nice, having someone to lean on, someone to stand beside her, someone who didn't ask questions and didn't judge her for her mistakes. Still, though, Ruth had never been very good at letting people in, had always preferred the quiet of a small, isolated life to sharing the broken pieces of herself. The people she was close to had a way of leaving her, right when she needed them most, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing another friend.

The doctor was looking at her oddly, and Ruth realized she hadn't answered the question.

"It's been about six weeks, maybe eight," she said. Doctor Peters raised an eyebrow, so Ruth gave her the dates, explaining that it would have to have been some time during those two weeks. The doctor didn't need to know what had precipitated that fortnight of madness, didn't need to know how grief and pain had broken through Ruth's steely resolve, crumbling her defenses and leaving her vulnerable, weak and helpless in the face of damning love.

"Right," Doctor Peters said, scribbling some notes on the chart she clutched in her perfectly manicured hands. "We'll take a urine sample today, and I've got some literature here for you, foods to avoid, suggestions for baby friendly exercises, directions on what supplements you should take, that sort of thing."

Ruth nodded dumbly, but before she could speak, Beth chimed in, catching her off guard. Funny that, she thought, biting back a small smile. Beth had been supportive and kind and not at all judgmental, and here she was, asking questions, trying to shoulder some of Ruth's burden.

"Will you do a scan, today?" Beth asked curiously.

The doctor shook her head. "We normally wait until the three month appointment to do the scan. The baby's still quite tiny, not much to see yet."

 _But it's there,_ Ruth thought, still shocked by the very idea. _It's there somewhere, this tiny little thing._

"That does bring me to something else we need to discuss, Louisa," Doctor Peters continued in an almost patronizing sort of tone. "We consider any mother over thirty-five to be high risk. I have to ask, do you have any history of miscarriage or other reproductive issues?"

Ruth felt as though the air had been sucked from her lungs, and she struggled for a moment to center herself, to find a sense of calm as her heart thundered against her chest.

 _No, God, no, don't ask me that, don't make me say it, please._

It wasn't just that Beth was there, though she certainly didn't want to discuss this with the girl; it was that Ruth had never said the words aloud, not even on that awful night in the hospital with Jo sitting right beside her, carrying her through. If she said it, if she gave voice to that awful, unbearable secret, somehow that made it real. And if it was real she could not hide from it, could not pretend it had never happened, could not go on being the woman she had been, before.

The doctor wore a sympathetic expression; perhaps Ruth's pain was too obvious to be missed, the answer writ large across her face, but still the doctor did not speak, waiting for Ruth's answer.

 _Say it._

"Once," Ruth said softly, hardly able to hear her own voice. "Last year. I was only about nine weeks gone. Stress-induced, they said."

* * *

 _Shit,_ Beth thought.

This was supposed to be fun, just two friends, out on a bit of an adventure, checking up on the baby and making plans for the future. Whatever she'd expected, it certainly wasn't this, wasn't the haunted look on Ruth's face or the soft, broken sound of her voice as she revealed her grief to the doctor. There was a moment, just an instant when Doctor Peters's face showed her surprise, at the words _stress-induced,_ and Beth could almost hear the unspoken question. What the hell kind of stress had Ruth endured, that it could inflict such devastation?

Rather than ask so bluntly, the doctor approached the question obliquely. "What is it you do for work, Louisa?" Likely she had intended to sound kind, reassuring, but her words came off strangely intrusive. Beth felt her anger rise, on Ruth's behalf, but Ruth just hugged herself tightly and answered the question, her eyes trained on the floor.

"I'm a PA, at the Home Office. It wasn't work," she continued, her voice strangely distant, as if it were some other person speaking, relaying the information third-hand. "My husband, he…he died, rather unexpectedly."

Likely that was more information than the doctor needed, and certainly more information than Beth needed, but it seemed Ruth couldn't stop herself, like the words just kept coming out of her, and no way to stop them.

 _Is that true?_ Beth asked herself desperately. _Look at her face. Is it true?_

She stole a glance at Ruth, but her face was blank and unreadable. It might have been true, and if it was, it certainly explained some things, not least of all her hesitation to give into whatever feelings she harbored for Harry. But Ruth had never mentioned anything, and there was no sign that anyone else had ever lived in that little flat, had ever shared her life in that way. Was it just part of the legend, a cover for something even more insidious? What _hadn't_ Ruth lost, in the name of the Service?

"I'm sorry to hear that Louisa, really I am. But that's helpful for us to know. So far, you appear to be perfectly healthy, and we'll do everything we can to make sure you stay that way," Doctor Peters said finally. "There's just one last thing. As I said, your age does put you at risk, and when dealing with mothers over a certain age, it's common practice to preform an amniocentesis, usually around 14 to 16 weeks in, to test for any abnormalities."

"Is that the one with the bloody big needle?" Beth asked before she could stop herself. Beside her, Ruth laughed, just a tiny little chuckle really, but it was enough to let Beth know that she hadn't overstepped, and that Ruth wasn't in danger of falling apart the way she had the night before.

The doctor gave her a small, indulgent smile. "Yes, it does involve a needle. The test is completely optional, but we do recommend it. It's the best way for us to make sure that everything is as it should be."

"14 to 16 weeks," Ruth said aloud.

"Right. So you've got plenty of time to think it over, and when you come back in a few weeks for your three month check, you can let us know what you've decided."

Ruth nodded, and did not speak again.

* * *

On the bus back to Thames House Ruth stowed the paperwork and the little bottle of vitamins the doctor had given her in the depths of her handbag, and mulled over everything she'd been told today. She made a mental note to do some research on the procedure the doctor had explained to her, determine if it was truly safe or truly necessary. The thought of a needle anywhere her stomach and the little person growing inside it repulsed her on a fundamental level, and that sharp, instinctual disgust gave her pause. Already, she felt so possessive of this little thing; Doctor Peters said it was probably not even two centimeters long, right now, barely the size of a peanut. Which of course, had led to Beth christening the baby "peanut"; she had insisted with almost childlike glee that they had to call the baby something, that they couldn't keep referring to it as "it". Her enthusiasm was infectious, and sustaining, in its own way. If Beth could be excited about this, could be hopeful for the future, then maybe Ruth could be, too.

 _Hello, peanut,_ Ruth thought, leaning back against the bus seat and gently resting her hand against her stomach, underneath the fold of her coat. _I know you're in there. We're going to get through this, you and me._

* * *

Ruth was trying to be discrete about it, but Beth could see that the other woman was resting her hand lightly on her stomach, a little smile tugging at the corner of her lips as they rode along in silence, making their way back to Thames House.

 _That's good,_ Beth thought, relieved. _Be happy, Ruth. It's not the end of the world._


	10. Chapter 10

Back on the Grid, Ruth tried to focus on her work, tried to ignore the doctor's words swirling around her mind in an endless refrain. _High-risk…hardly the size of a peanut…appear to be healthy…_

She felt a familiar prickling, a certain sense of being watched, and raised her gaze just in time to watch Harry's eyes slide away from her and back to his computer screen. The Grid had undergone many structural shifts, over the years, the desks arranged a dozen different ways as HR tried to come up with the best method to make the space more work-friendly, and yet, no matter how the pieces were moved, her desk remained always well within Harry's line of sight. For a moment she indulged herself in wondering whether this was by design, and if it was, who was behind it all. She couldn't quite imagine Harry making the trek upstairs to insist that Ruth needed to be kept close to him; no, it seemed much more likely that whoever orchestrated each rearrangement of the Grid had heard about the symbiotic, almost codependent relationship between the boss spook and his chief analyst, and had quietly decided that some things were better left as they were. Strangely, that thought didn't terrify her quite the way it would have years ago; now, she found herself biting back a smile at the thought of a bunch of faceless bureaucrats looming over a blueprint of the Grid and bickering about how best to keep her close to Harry.

Harry's eyes flicked back towards her and she realized with a start that she was the one who was staring now, as his gaze caught hers and held for a long moment. With a subtle nod of his head he beckoned her towards him, and she responded without hesitation, on her feet and halfway to his office before it occurred to her just how well-trained she was, jumping whenever he asked, never questioning why. The thought was bitter, and black, and what little good humor she'd entertained a moment before quickly evaporated.

"Everything go all right, with Beth's new asset?" Harry asked her as she slid the door to his office closed behind her. She leaned back against the door, desperate for some sort of support as her stomach clenched and her mind spun. This was the moment she'd been dreading since she first came up with her little plan, the moment when she'd have to face Harry, and lie to him.

"He didn't tell us anything we didn't already know," she settled on finally. "Beth thinks he was just trying to get a feel for us, that he's not ready to trust us yet. She wants to meet him again in a few weeks."

Harry nodded, steepling his fingers together on the desk and regarding her with dark, hooded eyes.

"And what do you think?"

"I think another meeting won't hurt. Either he gives us something next time, or we cut him lose."

This earned her another pensive little nod, but Harry did not say anything further. Silence fell, lush and thick, a treacherous garden full of lurking dangers. Ruth prayed Harry would not push her for more details; she had nothing more to say to him. In the silence he watched her, something questioning in his gaze, words just waiting to rush past his lips, never quite breaking through his defenses. _What is it?_ Ruth wanted to shout. _What more can I give you?_ Still he said nothing, and seconds turned into a full minute, Ruth shifting uncomfortably under his stare, wanting to leave, not sure if that was the right move.

"Are you feeling all right?" Harry asked finally, and her eyes jerked back up to his face, horror rising in her chest.

 _What do you know?_ She wanted to demand, _what have you heard?_ Had she been that obvious? Of course Beth had noticed her unusual behavior lately, but they lived together in tight quarters, and such perception was to be expected. No one else had mentioned anything, no one else had so much as looked at her askance, but no one else knew her the way he did.

"Fine," she lied through her teeth. "I've been a bit tired lately, but I'm rostered off for the whole weekend. I'll be good as new, come Monday."

Harry nodded. "That's good," he said.

 _I'm worried about you,_ she heard.

* * *

"Lucas, can I ask you something?"

Beth had been trying to work up the courage to approach him since the first night she'd spent in Ruth's flat, and now seemed as good a time as any. The Grid was quiet; Ruth was sequestered in Harry's office, in the midst of conversation with the man himself, Tariq had slipped off for some coffee, and Dimitri was in the loo. All the other analysts, the other teams were off doing whatever the hell it was they did, and, for a moment at least, she was alone with Lucas. The dark haired man had been, not kind, exactly, but encouraging, slowly warming to the idea of having her on his team. That good will might not survive her question, but she had been bursting with it for weeks now, and after the revelation at the doctor's office, she _needed_ to know.

"Sure."

It wasn't the most enthusiastic response, but it would do.

"I saw this code, and I was wondering if you could tell me what it means."

Beth scribbled on a piece of paper, jotting down the same string of letters she'd found on the boxes in the closet of Ruth's spare bedroom.

 _R.E./Dec./5-D/Eyes Only._

For a long moment Lucas said nothing, merely staring at the page she'd handed him, his breathing steady and his face unreadable. While she waited for his answer Beth felt every muscle in her body tense, certain she'd overstepped the mark, miscalculated his growing fondness for her. Or perhaps it was Ruth she had misjudged; perhaps whatever was in those boxes was dangerous, a secret Ruth wasn't meant to possess, and perhaps Beth had just gotten her flatmate into a heap of trouble.

"Where did you find this?" Lucas asked, lifting his head and turning the full force of his piercing gaze on her.

"On a box, in Ruth's flat," Beth answered truthfully, swallowing hard against her fear. No going back now.

"It's a code, used by Section X. Internal affairs," Lucas began to explain in a deadly quiet voice. "When an agent goes rogue, or disappears, or dies, Section X seizes all their belongings and searches through everything, looking for incriminating evidence. The process can take months." Beth sucked in a sharp breath, but before she could ask, he continued, stabbing a thin finger at the paper as he read, "R.E. - Ruth Evershed. Dec. - Deceased. 5-D – MI-5, Section D. Eyes only - pretty self explanatory."

"But Ruth's not a rogue agent, and she's certainly not dead," Beth protested, confused.

"For two years, she was. Accused of murder, treason, conspiracy to commit torture. They fished her body of out of the Thames. Her mother held a memorial service. For all intents and purposes, Ruth was dead."

 _Murder? Treason? Torture? Dead?_

None of it made any sense to Beth, and her mind swam as she tried to process this information. That couldn't be true, not of Ruth. Not Ruth, solid, steadfast Ruth, Ruth of the unwavering devotion to her job. To her country. To Harry.

"That's how things stood when Harry brought me back to the team. She'd been gone almost a year at that point. I never could get the whole story, just bits and pieces. They said she jumped, when she was found out. Couldn't stand the thought of going to prison for her crimes, and committed suicide instead."

" _No,"_ Beth said quietly, dismayed.

"I agree, it doesn't sound like Ruth. But whatever happened, Harry managed to clear her name, gave her back her life and her job."

Lucas was watching her, she realized, like some sort of massive, lazy jungle cat, keeping his eyes on his prey, waiting for any sign of weakness. She'd overstepped, by asking this question, had revealed herself as a potential threat to Ruth and to the stability of the Grid by her simple inability to keep things to herself, to be content with what little information was available.

"How?" she asked softly, trying to convey with just one word that she supported Ruth, that she would never be the cause of more pain in her friend's life.

Lucas just shrugged. "That's not my story to tell. All I'll say is this – it was nasty, and the simple fact that she manages to crawl out of bed and come into work every morning speaks to how strong she is." His tone was surprisingly gentle, full of honest admiration. Did he feel a kinship with Ruth? Beth wondered. The pair of them having been forced out of the fold, somehow finding their way back, emerging through grief and pain to forge some semblance of a normal life; perhaps no one understood how much they had suffered, quite like someone who had suffered the same.

Without another word Lucas stepped away from her, leaving her alone to contemplate what little he'd shared with her. With sudden clarity, she recalled Ruth's words, spoken in a dead little voice as she sat on the table in the examination room.

 _He died, rather unexpectedly._

Maybe Ruth had been telling the truth, after all. Maybe the loss of her husband was the something _nasty_ she'd endured upon her return, maybe that was the key to the sorrow in her glorious blue eyes.

* * *

That night, they made the trip back home together. Beth ordered Chinese, and they curled up in the sitting room together, Ruth perched in her favorite armchair with her legs tucked up underneath her and her laptop balanced precariously on her knees, Beth sprawled across the length of the sofa and quietly flicking through the channels on the telly as they waited for their dinner.

Throughout their commute Beth had been quiet and unnaturally reserved, stealing glances at Ruth out of the corner of her eye when she thought she was unobserved. It was disconcerting, to say the least, knowing that the girl was watching her, not knowing why. Ruth tried to force the fear away, focusing instead on the numerous journal articles she'd pulled up with the intent of researching the amniocentesis.

The words slipped past her eyes unread, however, and finally she simply couldn't stop herself from asking, "Is everything all right?"

Beth jumped slightly at the sound of her voice, but pulled herself together quickly, turning off the telly and scrambling upright on the sofa.

"I'm fine. I just...I heard something, today, and I was wondering if it were true, but I don't want to push you, if you don't want to talk about it."

Ruth's heart stuttered in her chest. There were a million things Beth could have heard about her, each more damning than the last, but she'd rather set the girl straight, if she could, than have her go on believing in suppositions and bitter gossip.

"What is it, Beth?"

Before she could answer the doorbell rang.

"That'll be dinner, then," Beth said, giving her an apologetic smile and rushing off to pay the deliveryman.

Ruth sighed, and shut her laptop.

* * *

When they were settled at the table with the food all plated and ready to go and the cat winding nervously around Ruth's ankles, Beth found her voice.

"I heard you died."

Ruth's fork fell to her plate with a clatter, and Beth winced at the sound. Cautiously she stole a glance at her flatmate over the rim of her wine glass, searching Ruth's face for some sign that she was about to receive the bollocking of her life.

The harsh reprimand never came; to Beth's shock, Ruth simply laughed, a sharp, hard, mirthless sound, and took a long sip from her glass of water.

"No one's ever said that to me before," Ruth said wryly, leaning back against her chair. She was watching Beth now, in much the same calculating way Lucas had before, and somewhere deep inside Beth felt a growing resentment at the manner of treatment she'd received since first stepping foot on the Grid. No one trusted her; Ruth, in a moment of vulnerability, had allowed her to shoulder some of her burdens, no doubt thankful to have another woman to lean on, but when it came to operational matters it was as if Beth had the word "traitor" written in block letters across her forehead. How long would she have to suffer, would she have to accept their sidelong glances and their whispers and their tactical omissions before they would finally concede that she was a member of the team? Beth wasn't the sort of person who enjoyed having to prove her worth; she knew her own value, and up until now, that knowledge had been sufficient.

"You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," Beth managed, forcing the words out from behind clenched teeth and trying not to choke on them.

"I've never really spoken to anyone about it. Not even George, not really," Ruth began, and her eyes grew far away as she spoke. _Who the hell is George?_ Beth wondered, but before she could ask, Ruth found her voice again. "It all just sort of happened, and then when I came back, Ros and Malcolm and Jo were there, to explain things for me."

Jo, again. Last night Beth had promised herself she'd go looking for the dead spook's personnel file, that she would find out as much as she could about the girl whose place she'd usurped, but somehow, between filing reports and going out on adventures with Ruth, she just hadn't found the time. Tomorrow, she decided.

There was something in Ruth's face, in her posture, that was thoughtful, and rather sad; whatever spark of doubt or defiance had lit her features a moment before was gone now, replaced by a deep sense of melancholy. Maybe she _needed_ to talk to someone about it, Beth realized; maybe keeping all of her memories locked inside her head like the boxes tucked away in her closet was hurting her more than she cared to admit.

"It was the only way, really. It was Harry or me, and I was nothing. Just an analyst, not anyone important. Harry had to stand on the wall. I was expendable."

She spoke in a pensive little voice, her sentences short and rather clipped, an unusual tone for a woman who so often let her words run away with her. For her part Beth was mortified by what she heard, and couldn't keep herself from asking, "Harry made you leave?"

Ruth leaned forward, focusing her gaze on Beth, her posture once more present and engaged.

"Harry tried to go to jail for me. He stabbed the chairman of the JIC with a wine glass; slashed straight through his arm, cut some tendons, did all sorts of damage. It was such a noble, bloody _stupid_ thing to do." She shook her head as if even now, however many years later, she still couldn't quite understand it. Beth certainly didn't understand it, couldn't wrap her mind around the idea that Harry could do such a thing, and keep his job. She needed details, and Ruth wasn't really providing them.

Whatever Beth had been expecting, it certainly wasn't this. She knew that Ruth and Harry were close, but the thought that they had been close for _years_ , that they had been doing this dance for _years_ , and still were not together, but still were not apart, simply boggled her mind. _God_ , she thought, how must Ruth feel? To have such history with him, to go through so much grief and pain, to still care for him so deeply, and yet still find herself unable to truly be with him. Theirs was either the most tragic or the most inspiring romance she'd ever encountered in real life, and she couldn't quite make up her mind which.

"I was being framed for something I didn't do, in an effort to bring Harry to heel. I couldn't let him go to jail for me, so I took the fall. _Life in a new direction,_ and all that."

"Where did you go?" Beth asked.

Ruth looked at her for a long moment before she answered.

"Hell," she said finally.

* * *

Perhaps that was a bit dramatic, but it was the best way she could think of to describe what she'd been through. Where had she gone? Where _hadn't_ she gone? Ruth went to Paris, and cried for a day or two, curled up on a thin mattress in a dingy hostel, crying for Harry, crying for herself, crying for her mother. Her poor mother, her poor step-father; they'd already buried one child, one child who had taken his own life when the weight of the world grew too much to bear, and now they had to face that pain again, because she loved Harry too much to see him dragged under.

After that, Ruth went to Florence, and though her tears had run dry, her fears had festered. Everywhere she looked she saw enemies in the shadows, constantly on the alert for dangers, real and perceived. Her documents were fake, and every time she crossed another border her heart beat harder in her chest, certain that _this_ time they'd catch her out, clap her in irons and send her back to London to answer for her crimes. On and on she'd traveled, doing odd jobs, until she washed up in Cyprus, drained of energy and funds alike.

She'd been so utterly alone, so completely adrift; back in England, her life had been small and quiet, but she had convinced herself she wasn't entirely alone. She'd receive the odd email from a university acquaintance, she'd call her mother, she'd chat to her friends on the Grid, wave at her neighbors, and though no one truly knew her, she believed she was doing all right, playing at that farce of a life. Now though, she had no one, no connection, however tenuous, and the weight of her isolation was suffocating. Where could she turn, in a moment of grief and need? She didn't really even exist.

Cyprus was beautiful, warm and pleasant and far, far away from England. Slowly she began to build her life there, and as she grew comfortable in her new legend, Ruth began to consider the possibility that this was her second chance. Perhaps now, with a new name, a new job, a new country, a new life, she could forge those connections she'd never had in London. She could make real friends, take a lover, find a bit of peace.

So she did. She found George, falling into his bed quite by mistake. A few too many drinks, a few too many over-familiar brushes of her arm against his, and the next thing she knew she was flat on her back underneath him, making all the appropriate noises and wondering when he'd finish. Sometime that night though, after he'd fallen asleep and she'd dragged herself off to have a shower and get her thoughts in order, Ruth had given herself a rather stern talking to. Harry would always be _something wonderful that was never said,_ a dream never realized, a hope never kindled, and Ruth wanted more from her life. George was something else entirely. He was a man, a living, breathing man, one who cared for her, who offered her more than longing glances and unconsummated desires. She could have a life with him, could have friends and a family and a story that didn't begin and end with her job.

So she took a chance, and built a life with George.

It wasn't perfect, but it was simple, and elegant in its own way, beautiful because it was so far removed from anything she'd ever imagined for herself. She'd loved her life in Cyprus, loved feeling as if she belonged, as if she were truly living, for the first time in a long while. She threw parties and helped Nico with his homework and gossiped with her friends, and staunchly refused to read the newspaper. She made love with George, and bought a lovely little house with him, and told herself that she finally had everything she ever wanted.

Like a cancer, though, fear grew deep within her heart, shifting and sliding around inside her, never ceasing. That life was a dream, and she knew better than most that all dreams must come to an end. So it was that even in her happiest moments she was deeply troubled, and her worries clouded everything in sight. George had come to recognize that about her, the way she sometimes seemed to be someone else entirely, short tempered and anxious, but he never asked her _why_. And so she worried, and regretted, and waited for the end to come.

And when it came, she was ruined by it.

Hell was sleeping with George, wishing he were someone else. Hell was playing with Nico, wishing he were her child. Hell was walking to the market, and looking over her shoulder for Mace and his cronies. Hell was sitting in a dingy flat with George, as he demanded to know what she had done, to put his family in danger. _His_ family, never hers, never truly, only given to her on loan, to be taken back the moment she revealed her true colors. Hell was seeing Harry again, and feeling relieved, despite the horror she had brought down on George and Nico. Hell was a cold hospital bed, and a sweet girl holding her hand, lying as she said, _it's not your fault._ Hell was falling asleep warm and safe and loved in Harry's bed one night, and lying down cold and alone and weeping in her own the next.

Maybe it was melodramatic, to offer such an answer to Beth's question, but as she thought about everything she had been through over the last few years, it was the only explanation she could give.

 _Where did you go?_

 _Hell. And I never left._


	11. Chapter 11

Not telling Harry was harder than she thought it would be, in the beginning.

He was slowly returning to his old self, regaining some of the fight he'd lost, but he was still so reserved with her, so careful not to ever stray into the personal when they spoke, a sorrowful look haunting his eyes when he thought her attention was focused elsewhere. A part of her longed to reach out for him, to cling to his hand and unburden herself to him, to the only person who would truly understand the awfulness of it, that she should be carrying _his_ child. Who else could share her grief, who else could know her pain, but the man who had stood by her side through it all, the man who'd rained this destruction down on her? Yes, a part of her wanted him beside her through this madness, wanted to whisper to him in the dark of the night when she was terrified of losing the baby and terrified of keeping it in equal measure.

A larger, far more vocal part of her wanted him as far away from her and her slowly changing body as possible. It never should have happened, that fortnight of bliss and horror, and she shuddered to think of the way he might react, should he know the truth. Pity, certainly, and desperate hope perhaps, would come flooding out of him; no doubt he'd shuffle around, talk about wanting to do the right thing, talk about how maybe now they could be together, properly, for the baby's sake.

And _God_ but that was the last thing she wanted. For years she had waited for him, yearned to hear him speak the truth she hoped ( _she knew_ ) he harbored in his heart, but this was not the way. She did not want his pity, did not want his obligation; she wanted his love, all of it, every bit he had to give. If he could not love her before, could not say the words, could not open his heart to her when she had laid herself bare before him, then she suspected any declaration of feelings he might offer once he knew about her condition would be false, driven by a sense of duty, rather than passion. And that thought was intolerable to her.

So still she kept her peace, though every now and again he would look at her, and her heart would break anew, and her hand would drift down to her stomach, cradling her little peanut as she struggled to keep the words in check. Some days she wanted to scream _look what you've done to me,_ and some days she wanted to weep _look what we've done together,_ and some days she simply wanted to fold herself into his arms and whisper _never let me go._

More and more often she found herself entertaining thoughts of how things might be between them, once the baby was born. The peanut deserved a father, deserved to know this man, however terrible, however glorious, however broken he might be, but how could they fit the pieces of their lives together? Would Harry come round to hers in the evenings, and cradle their sleeping child in his arms while she cooked them supper? Would he take the baby away to his, every other weekend, national emergencies not withstanding? Or would he simply fade from her life, push her off into another section, claiming it was a safer post for a single mother while quietly breathing a sigh of relief that he no longer had to face her?

She didn't know, couldn't know until she told him, but once spoken those words could never be taken back, and the thought of crossing that particular line scared her more than all the other possibilities put together.

* * *

The mess with the Paroxocybin dragged on and on, and Ruth's doubts about Harry, about herself, about how well she knew him grew with each passing moment.

 _Doubting my judgment?_

 _No,_ she'd answered, when she wanted to scream _yes._ She understood his frustration, understood his desire to cause no more harm than he had already, understood the compassion that drove him to letting the man they would later identify as Azis Aibek escape, but she couldn't support his decision. They were spooks to the core, they weren't meant to be driven by emotions; _ours not to question why_ , and all that. They were meant to do the unthinkable in the name of service to their country, and fade quietly from sight. She'd known, the moment Harry let Aibek go, that trouble would come of it, and _yes_ she doubted him. He'd lost his nerve, after Ros, lost that cool calculation that made him such an effective leader, and she'd lost her confidence in him.

She had been startled by the vehemence in his tone, when he questioned her, questioning him. For the first time, she allowed herself to wonder how he must feel about their…indiscretion; she'd been so lost in her own tangle of emotions, she'd hardly taken the time to consider how this all must look to him. She'd finally capitulated to the heat between them, had finally given him what he'd been so gently, so patiently asking for; had he thought she'd taken up residence in his bed for good? He'd believed their relationship solid enough to merit his ill-timed proposal; what else had he believed about her, about them, about what they could be together? And he didn't even know the worst of it; as she left his office she hung her head in shame, thinking only _I will break him, I will be the end of him._

The tension between them grew, his resentment for her causing him to lash out in unexpected ways. After the rather tense briefing on Aibek, Ruth lingered behind, wanting a moment to talk to him, to orchestrate a strategy with him, to stand beside him as was her right, her duty, to face whatever fallout would come, together. She'd been met only with derision; _I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Ruth,_ he'd said.

She'd wanted to shake him, then. He knew that wasn't what she was asking, and yet like a petulant child he had chosen to deliberately ignore her offer of help, her quiet plea that he let her back into his confidence.

And after he left, the Home Secretary had called, and for the first time since her days as a GCHQ mole, Ruth broke rank.

It was an untenable position, being forced to choose between protecting Harry, and doing her duty. If she had lied to the HS, if she had obfuscated, if she had responded with all the ill grace Harry had been carrying over the last few days, it would have been no shock to her to find herself carted back off to Cheltenham in shame. All these years later, that threat still lingered, unspoken in the HS's cool demand for information. Yes, she doubted Harry, yes she knew more than he was saying, and yes, it was her obligation to tell the HS whatever he wanted to know. Angry at Harry and fearful for the future, she had told Towers exactly what he needed to know, and the moment she hung up the phone she'd rushed off to the Ladies', emptying the contents of her stomach and trying desperately not to weep. She'd felt ill all morning, but had managed to contain herself until that moment, and not for the first time she wondered how long she could continue to hide the truth from those around her.

Of course, Towers hadn't kept quiet about how he'd come by his information, when he rang Harry to give him a dressing down, and the anger, the betrayal he'd felt upon discovering what Ruth had done shone out of his eyes, his body tight and tense with hurt and rage. His tone had been so derisive, so cutting, she'd fought the urge to reach out and pull him toward her, to dig her nails into his arm and hiss into his ear as she explained exactly what she thought of him and his behavior recently.

 _Harry, we have to work together,_ she'd said instead, frustration and sorrow mingled in her voice.

 _We are working together, Ruth. This is what it looks like._

Such simple words, but strung together like that they took her like a slap to the face. _This is what it looks like. Oh God, please don't let that be true,_ she prayed. She could not bear this future for them, bickering and sniping and never, ever trusting one another again. If this was what it looked like, if this was how things were to stand between them, deep in her heart she feared she would have to leave. If Harry was so angry with her now, how much more angry would he be when he learned the truth she'd kept hidden from him? She could not continue to work alongside him; already she found herself drowning beneath the broken pieces of who they had been, and who they had become.

Still, there was a job to do, and they did it, allowing an FSB officer onto the Grid no matter how begrudgingly.

Beth and the others rushed off to try to detain Aibek, and Ruth remained behind, horror-struck as the realization of the danger Beth was in dawned on her. This girl had been her friend, her confidante, a sure and steady presence in the chaos that her life had become, and yet Ruth was forced to stand there and encourage her to open that bag, to risk her very life for the sake of the operation. _I can't do this any more,_ Ruth thought, even as she sagged with relief at Beth's declaration that the bag was empty. _I can't stand to see Harry like this, I can't stand to lose another friend, I have to go, I have to._

 _Just once more_ , she told herself, _just stand by Harry one more time, see this operation through and tender your resignation and be done with it._

So she did. She sat with Harry and Doctor Kirby, listening to this man defend so strongly his belief in his research. Harry used to have that kind of faith in their work, his belief so fierce that it sustained everyone in their Section; now, though, she wasn't so sure. Doctor Kirby was infuriating, refusing to agree to having his research destroyed, refusing to let it be expanded, refusing to offer any explanation of the obvious safeguards he'd put in place. It was getting to Harry, Ruth knew, this old man's quiet obstinance, but she had to admire him for the strength of his convictions. Harry would not agree, she knew, his judgment clouded by his need for answers.

And then came the call from Doctor Kirby's daughter.

 _Pactum serva._

 _Keep the faith,_ Ruth had translated quietly. The words struck a chord, somewhere deep inside her. Doctor Kirby and his daughter were willing to die, to lose one another, for the sake of their convictions. She had felt that way once, her belief in Harry so steadfast that she was willing to give her life for him, willing to walk away from the _something wonderful_ between them in order to save him. Could she ever feel that way again? In that cold interrogation room she studied him out of the corner of her eye, the set of his shoulders, the furrow of his brow, the way he clenched and unclenched his hands. Could she ever believe in him again, as she had done when she was young and naïve and unbroken?

 _Maybe,_ a small tired voice whispered in the back of her mind. _Maybe._ She thought about their child, envisioned Harry cradling the little peanut in his arms, imagined how fiercely he would protect that precious bundle from the horrors of the world. Perhaps they were doomed, professionally, perhaps she could not lean on him as she had in the past, but she needed more from him than leadership. She needed a hand to hold, and as she gazed at this tired, dejected man, she fought the urge to reach out, and clasp his hand in hers.

Her mind was still swirling with thoughts of Harry and the baby – their baby – when she went to him, and offered him what little comfort she could.

 _A mistake of judgment, maybe,_ she'd allowed, _but not of decency._ Wanting him to know that she understood, wanting him to know that she was still here, that somewhere underneath the mistrust and the darkness that separated them from one another she was still the same person she had always been, his Ruth, his tether to the world, his conscience. _Sometimes you have to do what's necessary, Harry,_ she said, telling him obliquely that she knew what came next, and no matter how distasteful it was, she knew it was the only option left to him.

So they went to Doctor Kirby, and they lied. Told him his daughter had not kept the faith, that her death had been in vain, that everything he'd built had been ruined. Vaguely, she remembered asking Harry once _is there any line we don't cross_ , desperately wanting to know if nothing was sacred to them, any more. The answer then, as now, seemed to be simply _no. Regnum Defende. Whatever the cost._

In the end, though, Harry had surprised her, protecting the Paroxocybin, and revealing the truth to Doctor Kirby. Perhaps Harry could no more stomach the lie they told than she could. If nothing else, it proved to her that he was still her Harry, playing both sides against the middle, always one step ahead, always doing his best to do good, as well as right.

 _Sometimes you have to give a man a chance, Ruth. To show you who he really is._

She'd watched him go, his words echoing in her ears, her stomach roiling as the peanut made its presence known. Three months ago, she thought she knew him. Thought she knew him better than she knew herself, thought she knew his hopes and his dreams and his convictions. Three days ago, she'd thought he was a stranger to her, a bitter, jaded man who held no affection for her, after everything she'd done. Now, standing here, watching him walk away from her, she didn't know what to think. Harry was adrift, bouncing from dejection to rage so quickly it left her spinning and uncertain. Always in the past, it had been her job to bring him back, when he ventured too far afield, her job to center him and remind him why they did what they did. Could she not do that for him now? She knew who he was, deep in her heart; he was Harry, her Harry, and somehow they would have to find a way to forge ahead, together.

Her earlier decision to resign her post faded quietly from her mind as her hand drifted down to rest on her stomach, a gesture of self-comfort that she was turning to more and more. _Your daddy is lost, peanut,_ she thought, _but he'll find his way back. He has to._


	12. Chapter 12

"What are you working on?" Ruth asked curiously, leaning up against Beth's desk with a weary little smile on her face.

Ruth had been strangely at ease, the last few days, after the Paroxocybin incident. Not happy, exactly, but not as morose as she'd been before, either. It was almost as if she'd reached some sort of internal resolution with herself, some sort of decision regarding the baby and how she was going to handle it. At first, noting the change in Ruth's demeanor - from the mopey, sometimes bitter glances and long, uncomfortable silences back to gentle teasing and even the occasional smile, like the one she offered now - Beth assumed that Ruth had spoken to Harry about the baby. Now, though, she wasn't so sure; Harry offered Ruth no more attention than he had before; true, he was a bit less gruff, a bit more open with her than he had been, but still, he wasn't behaving the way Beth would have expected him to, had he known that Ruth was carrying his child.

This not knowing was driving her quite mad, if she were being honest. She couldn't come right out and ask Ruth if she'd told Harry, because Ruth had said she would wait and because Beth didn't want to admit that she was entertaining the notion that the pair of them had had some sort of illicit affair. She couldn't ask Harry, because she didn't know what he knew and Ruth would kill her if she opened her big mouth too soon. And she was absolutely certain that no one else on the Grid was aware of anything at all.

 _Stubborn as mules, the pair of them,_ she thought.

"I'm keeping an eye on Amri Hassan. Low level fixer, supplies trigger mechanisms and other parts for bombs. He's been trying to get his hands on a Seva Gola for a potential buyer, and last night, he succeeded."

Beth happened to glance from her computer screen to Ruth's face as she said the words _Seva Gola_ _,_ and she felt a twinge of fear at what she found there. Recognition, apprehension, regret; they mingled on Ruth's features, her face acting for just a moment as a kind of window into her emotions, before she clamped down tight and returned to her usual neutral expression.

"A sweet piece of kit," Ruth said softly. "That's what Malcolm would have called it. Any idea who the buyer is?"

Beth shook her head. "We're monitoring a few potential extremist groups he's had contact with recently, but they're more interested in remote detonators, using mobile phones and the like. I was speaking to Harry about it earlier, and he suggested it might be an insurgent Irish Republican group."

Ruth's expression grew grim. "I bet he did. As far as Harry's concerned, the Troubles never really ended. I'm not so sure. That's a very specific request. We need to find that buyer; whoever they are, they're serious about this attack."

Beth fought the urge to roll her eyes. Of course they needed to find the buyer, that's what she was doing, monitoring Hassan's phone calls and emails and organizing round the clock surveillance on the man. Before she could say anything more to Ruth, however, their fearless leader appeared and summoned her to his office with a curt nod of his head. Ruth reached out and squeezed her arm once before trailing along after him.

With a sigh, Beth went back to her perusal of Hassan's internet history. Once more she was struck by just how well Ruth understood Harry, by her innate ability to read him like her favorite book. His comments about the potential of an Irish threat had seemed legitimate enough to Beth, though he'd offered no evidence for his suppositions; Ruth, being Ruth, seemed to know better. No doubt there was something ugly in Harry's past that as his most trusted – perhaps only – confidante only Ruth was privy to. It must be nice, Beth thought wistfully, to know a person that well, to be that confident in your understanding of their history and their motives. She'd never really had that connection with anyone before, and she couldn't imagine that she ever would, if she continued down this path. MI-5 was full of secrets, and so too were its agents, every one of them an enigma, a puzzle that would never be completed.

She reached for her tea, and continued to read.

* * *

A break in the case of the mystery bomb builder came late that night, while Beth was sitting in the Forgery Suite, watching the video feeds from the surveillance team she'd put in place to monitor Hassan. The man had slipped out of his home under cover of darkness, and taken a dizzying, intentionally bizarre route to a car park near Kensington Gardens, of all places. She ordered one of the obbo team to follow on foot, where a small camera hidden on his jacket transmitted the grainy image of Hassan handing a small package to a redheaded woman in a smart black trench coat. The pair did not speak as the exchange took place; as far as drops went, it was rather clumsy, but effective. She needed to continue the surveillance on Hassan, to determine whether the Seva Gola was in that package after all, but she also needed to follow the woman in order to determine who she was, and Beth simply didn't have the manpower for that.

"Alpha One, stay on the woman. See if you can get a clear view of her vehicle. Alpha Two, follow Hassan in the van. Let's see if he's got any more adventures planned for this evening."

That done, Beth sat back, watching the simultaneous feeds and swearing under her breath. The redheaded woman climbed into a sleek black Lexus and peeled off, and her number plate never came into view.

"Alpha One, return to base," she told the agent who'd followed the woman on foot. Now they'd just have to keep an eye on Hassan, and pray that the images they'd managed to capture of their buyer would twig something on Tariq's facial recognition software.

* * *

"You don't really think there's an Irish threat here, do you Harry?" Ruth asked, leaning back in her favorite armchair. It was late, far too late to be up and talking to Harry on the phone, but she found herself restless tonight, unable to sleep, and so had decided to wait up for Beth. She'd come to look forward to their little chats, after they came home from work; Beth was funny and clever and the only person in the world she could talk to about her…situation. Her three month appointment was coming up tomorrow, which meant she'd be having a scan and seeing the little peanut for the first time, and she was feeling anxious and delighted in almost equal measure.

Time was moving faster than she would have liked; she'd noticed her belly just beginning to fill out, her skirts suddenly tighter and her shirts more restrictive. None of her trousers fit, any more, but she hardly ever wore them anyway, preferring the comfort afforded by a long, loose skirt. After her return from Cyprus, Ruth had purchased an entirely new wardrobe, and for the first time she found herself missing her old, baggy, bohemian clothes. Some of those clothes were still packed in the boxes of her belongings she'd stashed in the closet of the spare room – Beth's room – but so far she'd had neither the time nor the inclination to go through those boxes. Those things belonged to someone else, and though it had been nearly a year and half since she'd returned, she'd never felt quite ready to face them.

"There's always an Irish threat," Harry grumbled on the other end of the line.

 _Of course,_ Ruth thought. She knew all about the time Harry had spent there, the lives lost there, the scars he carried with him to this day, but he so rarely mentioned it, keeping a tight rein on his emotions around everyone – except her. There was a part of her that reveled in that, in the trust he afforded her, but there was a part of her that was terrified by it, as well. Harry's burdens were many, and Ruth wasn't sure she had the strength to help him carry them. She had burdens of her own.

"It's the Seva Gola that worries me," Ruth admitted quietly, trying to push away the thoughts of Angela Wells that had been pestering her all day. "Nothing good can come of that."

"Beth will catch them," Harry said firmly, and for once Ruth accepted his reassurance without question. It was nice to have something to believe in, in this world so full of uncertainty, and Ruth had chosen to believe in Harry. _Pactum Serva._ Slowly, ever so slowly, she was coming around to the idea of brining him in on her little secret, of asking him for his opinion about how they should proceed, no matter how terrified she might be of his answer. He was Harry, her Harry, and he would know what to do.

She'd have to tell him soon; she'd decided it might be easier to talk about the baby with him if she had a copy of the scan in her hand, some piece of solid evidence she could cling to, pass over to him like a copy of the latest threat assessment.

"She's settling in quite well, isn't she?" Ruth asked. There was no need for the question; Ruth already knew Harry's feelings on the matter of Beth and her place on the team. But she'd asked anyway, because she keenly felt the need to hear his voice tonight, and the only subject they could converse about without falling completely to pieces was work.

Harry made a little humming sound, offering his agreement. "I think she's settling in just fine. In fact, just this morning I was talking to Lucas about getting Beth a flat of her own. I don't think we need you to keep an eye on her any longer."

Likely his words had been intended to comfort her; she hadn't been happy about taking Beth in, in the beginning, and likely Harry thought she would be pleased to be getting her flat back. In truth, though, she would be sad to see Beth go. It had been nice, having someone to come home to, even if that person wasn't a husband or a lover. It was nice to be able to talk about her day, to settle down in her armchair with her laptop and her cat and just chat, and for once not to feel totally alone. She didn't dread going home, any more, didn't fear the quiet. Beth had livened up her little flat, had made it feel more like a home than a hotel, and once the girl was gone, Ruth knew she would have to face the reality of the future that awaited her. A future with just her and the peanut, this little person who would depend on her for absolutely everything. How was she going to manage on her own? It didn't bear thinking about.

"I haven't exactly enjoyed spying on her," Ruth said after a time, "but I've grown rather fond of her. I'm sure she'd like to have her own place, but I won't kick her out."

Harry was quiet for a long moment, processing her words; Ruth could just picture him, the fingers of his right hand tapping out a little rhythm on the edge of his desk or maybe circling the rim of his whiskey glass, while his left hand cradled the phone and his lips turned down in that little pout she adored so much.

"I'm glad you've found a friend in her. It's nice to see you smile again," he said in a low voice, and Ruth felt her breath catch in her throat. They weren't supposed to do this any more; by his own admission, late night chats between the pair of them were out of bounds, yet here he was, ringing her up just before midnight, bringing the personal to the front once again.

Before Ruth could formulate an answer, she heard the sound of the key in the lock.

"Beth's just come home," she said softly.

"I won't keep you, then. Have a good night, Ruth."

"And you."

With that, Harry ended the call, and Ruth clutched her mobile to her chest, wondering what the hell had just happened.

* * *

"Any luck?" Ruth asked in a strange, falsely cheerful sort of voice as Beth stomped through the doorway, depositing her keys on the side table in the front hall.

"Hassan made the exchange tonight, but we've got no idea who his buyer is," Beth answered. As she made her way through to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine she explained the situation to Ruth; by the time she was done talking she was laid out on the sofa, while Ruth remained ensconced in her plush chair.

"Shouldn't you be asleep by now?" she asked, and Ruth smiled.

"What are you, my mother?"

Beth laughed and took another sip of her wine. It had become a little joke between them; Beth was constantly pestering Ruth about getting enough to eat, about going to bed at a decent hour, about not working too hard. The truth was, Beth felt that her friend could do with a mother, someone to remind her to take care of herself. Ruth so often forgot to look after her own needs, but now she had the peanut to worry about, as well.

"I've had terrible heartburn all bloody day," Ruth continued, "and now I've got this appointment tomorrow, and I just can't seem to close my eyes."

 _Oh shit, the scan,_ Beth thought. She'd originally intended to go along with Ruth for this appointment as well, and had quite been looking forward to seeing the baby for the first time. Ruth had been doing rather a lot of research on the subject of fetal development lately, and had informed her just this morning that the peanut was now no longer peanut-sized at all. He'd be about the size of a lime now, with a face and little fingers and little toes and everything. Beth had just laughed, and insisted that "lime" was a terrible name for a baby, and she was sticking with peanut, thank you very much.

"Depending on what we've twigged on this woman tonight, I may not be able to get away tomorrow," Beth told her, hating that she might have to back out. Ruth deserved to have someone with her, and while Beth believed that that _someone_ really should be Harry, she was more than willing to take his place until Ruth was ready to come clean to him. Which, she realized, should be any day now. _This could get interesting,_ she thought.

"It's all right, Beth, I do understand," Ruth said, and when Beth looked at her, she saw the truth of that statement in her friend's eyes. Of course Ruth understood; the details of their day-to-day lives were unimportant, compared to national security. No one knew that better than Ruth.

"Still, though. I'll try to make it."

Ruth just smiled, and thanked her in a quiet little voice.

* * *

 **A/N: I spent ages combing the internet trying to determine the correct spelling for "Seva Gola", and in the end I wound up purchasing the _Diana_ episode on Amazon video so I could play it with the subtitles on and figure out what the hell Angela was calling the stupid thing ($2.00 well spent, I think). This is just to say that, if you disagree with the spelling I have chosen, please blame Amazon for that, and not me. **


	13. Chapter 13

"We've got a name!" Beth called out, her voice betraying her relief. The facial recognition software had been churning all night and half the morning with no results, and she'd started to get a bit tetchy about the whole thing. The wire taps on Hassan's phone confirmed that the package he'd handed off the night before _was_ the Seva Gola, and Harry had quietly asked Ruth to help Beth with the hunt for their mystery buyer. Ruth had reached out to a few contacts at GCHQ; her network there was nowhere near as extensive as it had been back in the early days of her tenure with MI-5, but she still knew how to get her hands on information, and quickly. So far, she hadn't found any chatter that corresponded to Hassan and the Seva Gola, and she shared Beth's frustrations.

"Who is it?" Ruth asked eagerly, leaning over Beth's shoulder to get a better look at the computer screen.

"Hannah McCallister. She's a nurse, at a private clinic. Married, no children, no history of criminal activity, not even a traffic violation."

Ruth stared at the picture of the redhead on the screen. Hannah McCallister didn't look like a suicide bomber, a fanatic on the warpath. She just looked…normal. Nice, even.

It wouldn't be the first time they'd seen an ordinary citizen used as a weapon, though, Ruth thought grimly. Dimly she recalled a man – Nazeem…something – imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit, forced into criminality to save his family, very nearly murdered by Zaf on Harry's orders. _I've been here too long,_ she thought, realizing that the only person in the entire section who would recall that particular op, or even Zaf himself, was Harry.

"How do you want to play this?" she asked Beth, carefully watching to see how the girl would respond, given the opportunity to take charge.

"I'll be Hannah's new best friend. We'll bug her house and her phone, and I'll gain her trust, see if we can't figure out what this is all about."

Ruth nodded, satisfied. Beth was young, but enthusiastic and empathetic, with a sweet little face that so easily hid her calculating nature. It had only taken a matter of days for Beth to worm her way into Ruth's life, and given how high the stakes were now, she had no doubt that Beth was up to the task of doing the same to Hannah McCallister.

"Good. I'll speak to Harry. Be ready to brief the team in thirty minutes."

"Thank you," Beth said earnestly, giving her a look that said all too plainly that she understood the trust that Ruth was placing in her, and that she fully intended to rise to the occasion.

 _Good luck,_ Ruth thought.

* * *

"Do you think she's ready for that?" Harry asked, watching her through hooded eyes.

Ruth bristled at the question. _If I didn't think she was ready for it I wouldn't be standing here, telling you to let her take the lead._

"I do. She organized the surveillance, she found the buyer. We'll be with her, every step of the way. Beth is a member of this team, Harry, and it's time we started treating her like one."

Harry nodded. "Good. Do we have any thoughts on what this McCallister woman's endgame might be?"

Ruth shook her head. "We're pulling her bank statements and her call logs, but it will take some time to comb through the data. In the meantime, the quickest way to find out what she's up to is to get someone in there with her. Beth is putting together a plan now, and she'll be ready to brief in twenty minutes."

Harry stared at the photograph of their suspect Ruth had run off for him. "She doesn't look like a terrorist."

"They don't, any more."

Harry grunted, a soft, rough sound of agreement. Oh, how the times had changed, and no one knew it better than he.

 _I'll have to tell him soon,_ Ruth realized with a start, holding a stack of files low in front of her stomach, in a clumsy attempt to hide herself from him. She'd promised herself a month, a month to keep this secret and pray that she wouldn't lose the baby, and that month was over. It had actually officially ended three days ago, but she'd stretched out the time frame, wanting to wait for the scan. Well, she had four hours until her appointment, and then she'd be out of excuses. She studied the lines of his face; no doubt he was deep in thought about the realities of fighting terrorism in the digital age, when social media bred fanatics in the most unlikely places and a mobile phone could be dangerous than a gun. There was a much more immediate threat to his status quo hiding in that office with him, a little ticking time bomb no bigger than a lime that would change both of their lives irrevocably. That already had changed Ruth's.

 _Tomorrow,_ she decided. _Go to the appointment, come back to work, get some sleep, and tell him tomorrow._

* * *

"As luck would have it, the hospital where Hannah McCallister is employed is hiring nurses," Beth said, leaning forward across the table, unable to keep the eagerness from her voice. "In the maternity ward, where she works. I can be in place as early as tomorrow."

Harry was steadfastly refusing to meet her gaze, but Ruth had been so encouraging, throughout this briefing. Every time Beth had faltered, Ruth had been there, smoothly filling in the gaps, directing everyone's attention to the matter at hand. That didn't escape Beth's notice, nor, it would seem, did it escape Harry's. Had they fought about it, Beth wondered, mummy and daddy disagreeing about how much freedom they should allow their wayward daughter? It was a good plan, Beth thought, the best they could manage on short notice, and they desperately needed to get to McCallister before things turned ugly. Harry was the one who would determine whether she could be trusted with this responsibility, and she could only hope that whatever Ruth had said to him had convinced him to give her the reins.

"What's the significance of the Seva Gola?" Dimitri asked, flipping through the report Beth had cobbled together the night before.

As one Harry and Ruth tensed, and stole a brief, loaded glance at one another. _What the hell is that about?_ Beth wondered.

"It's a combination trigger/detonator system. Runs off radio frequency, impossible to jam. Has a 99% success rate," Ruth explained in a quiet voice, her eyes focused on the table and refusing to face any of the rest of the team.

"And almost impossible for a low-level arms dealer like Hassan to get his hands on. Any idea where he found his?" Harry asked, turning to Beth.

She shook her head. That was one of many disappointments in an op that had so far been littered with confusion and inaccuracy. It was incredibly frustrating, to know that she had finally been given the lead, had finally earned some of that trust she had so desperately longed for, and so far she had almost nothing to show for it. She had to do better, and she would do better.

"We can't be sure where it came from, but our main concern now has to be where it's going, and what Hannah McCallister wants with it." She hadn't intended it to come out quite so harsh, but the moment the words were out of her mouth Beth realized how petulant she sounded. "I can do this, Harry," she added, trying to sound like she was asking, and not telling.

For a long moment he said nothing at all, just gave her his best disapproving father look and steepled his hands together in front of him. Once again, he was seated at the head of the table, Ruth at his right hand, Dimitri on his left, Beth and Tariq rounding out the bunch like little children relegated to the periphery while the adults talked about more pressing matters.

"All right. You have a go. Tariq can get your kit sorted, and Ruth can finish going over the data we've pulled on McCallister. Be very, very careful, Miss Bailey," he added, as if that weren't a given. Beth resisted the urge to throw her hands up in the air and give a little victorious cry. _Time to go to work._

* * *

 _Oh, just say something already,_ Ruth admonished herself. She needed to leave, needed to have left five minutes ago if she were honest, but she found herself dawdling. Harry had given her a task and it wasn't completed yet, but it was time for her appointment and she desperately didn't want to reschedule. In order to leave, though, she'd need to speak to him first, to explain where she was going, and that meant lying to him. Again.

With some smooth talking and a very impressive, very fake C.V. Beth had managed to secure herself an interview at the hospital, where she would be meeting with none other than Hannah McCallister, head nurse on the maternity ward. While Ruth was incredibly pleased at Beth's performance so far, she had to admit that she was feeling a bit disappointed, as well. She was going to see the peanut for the first time today, was going to hear his little heartbeat and hold a picture of him in her hands, and the thought of facing this momentous occasion on her own was incredibly depressing. It was all thanks to Beth that she'd found out about the peanut in the first place, and, though she probably would have come to that conclusion on her own in time, she felt a certain sense of gratitude to the girl, for helping her face facts. And she was thankful, too, for all Beth's quiet words of understanding. Beth's steady presence at the last appointment was the only thing that had held Ruth together; how was she going to cope, facing this alone?

 _Just do it, Evershed,_ she told herself, rising from her chair and making her way to Harry's office on unsteady feet.

"I'm off out, Harry," she said, leaning against his open door, not trusting herself to step all the way inside and face him head on.

His head jerked up from the file he'd been reading. "Where are you going?"

"To meet Richard Brewer, Beth's asset. You remember, the-"

"The right-wing nutjob who couldn't be bothered to give you a straight answer last time," Harry finished for her. There was something in his eyes, just the faintest hint of doubt, and Ruth was reminded once again how well he knew her. Could he see that she was lying? What did he think she was hiding?

"It's probably a waste of time, but we said we'd give him one more chance, and since Beth's busy…." Ruth trailed off, left her thought hanging. There was no need to finish it; Harry knew what she was going to say.

"All right, but don't let him keep you too long. I've got a bad feeling about this Seva Gola business."

 _You and me both,_ she thought.

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

He gave her a little smile, and returned his attention to the paperwork in front of him, effectively dismissing her. Ruth left his office with fear and doubt roiling in her stomach. _Here we go._

* * *

"All right, Louisa, here we go!" Doctor Peters declared cheerily, and Ruth fought the urge to roll her eyes. She didn't do well with exuberant people, any more. She had done, once, had been quite happy and had quite enjoyed surrounding herself with happy people, but these days she much preferred a quieter crowd. One quiet person, in particular, sprang to mind.

Doctor Peters started the scan, and all traces of irritation and anxiety left her at once as the steady sound of the peanut's heartbeat came echoing out of the speakers.

"Oh my God," she said softly, hardly daring to breathe, raising one hand to cover her mouth as she stared at the screen. It was all grainy and grey, a bit like the video feeds in the forgery suite on a bad night, but somewhere in all that mess was a baby. After a moment, Doctor Peters got a lock on him, and Ruth's eyes filled with tears unbidden.

 _Hello, peanut._

There he was. There was her baby. He wasn't really moving, just sort of floating there, but he was _real_ , and Ruth could almost feel the world tilt beneath her feet. Doctor Peters gave her a warm little smile; no doubt she recognized the emotions playing across Ruth's face, but in that moment Ruth did not begrudge any assumptions the doctor might be making about her mental state. Ruth was overwhelmed and overcome, and she couldn't bring herself to care who knew it. For a few minutes she simply sat and stared, spellbound by the steady thrumming sound of her baby's heart and the sight of him, tiny and curled almost into a ball and so obviously, undeniably _present._

"Heartbeat is strong and steady. The baby's a good size. Everything looks good in there," Doctor Peters said reassuringly.

 _Harry should be here,_ Ruth thought, letting a few more tears fall before furiously scrubbing at her face, trying to bring her warring emotions under control.

"Can I have a copy of the scan?" Ruth asked, her voice rough and unsteady. She had half a mind to stick the photo in her wallet, to carry it around with her everywhere she went, a constant reminder of this moment, and the way she felt, looking at her baby for the first time.

Doctor Peters nodded. "Of course you can, I was just about to ask if you wanted one. I'll run it off for you right now." She got up, started fiddling with the machine, signaling that the time for staring at the peanut was drawing to a close.

"Actually," Ruth said, reaching out to place a gentle hand on the doctor's arm, drawing her attention back. "Could I have two?"


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: First of all, a massive thanks to all of y'all for reading and reviewing. I appreciate every single one of you so much. Secondly, I know we're all feeling a bit impatient. I promise, Ruth will tell Harry about the peanut soon, just maybe not in the way she'd planned. Things are getting a bit plotty here, but I promise, we're getting there.**

* * *

Ruth sat alone on the bus back to Thames House, staring at the picture of the peanut and trying desperately not to cry. For the rest of her life, she would remember this day, would remember the moment she first heard his little heartbeat, the moment she first saw him, the moment she first accepted his undeniable presence in her world. And for the rest of her life, she would regret not having Harry by her side.

He should have been there, would have loved to have been there, belonged there, by her side, holding her hand, facing this little miracle together. Instead, her pride, her doubt, her fear had kept him away, had denied him the opportunity to sit and stare in wonder at their child. It hadn't occurred to her, before she saw the grainy scan, just how important a milestone this really was, not just for her, but for _him_ , for them both, for their family. Because that was what they were now, she realized, a family. It didn't matter if she and Harry weren't together, it didn't matter if they never were; they were going to have a baby, yet another unbreakable chord binding them together, forever. They shared so many secrets, so many little joys and so much titanic grief, and now they shared this, too, this little person they would hold in their arms, in six months' time.

 _Six months._

Not so very long, in the grand scheme of things. Six months was how long Ruth had travelled, after Cotterdam, before settling down in Cyprus. Six months was how long it had taken her to work up the courage to ask Harry for a drink, after her return. Six months ago, Ros was alive. She had six months, to sort out her maternity leave and set up a nursery and read every book on child-rearing she could get her hands on. Six months, and then the peanut would be here, and there would be no going back.

So lost was she in contemplation of everything that would happen in the next six months that she very nearly missed her stop; she went scrambling down out of the bus, tucking the little photo of the peanut safely away in the pocket of her coat.

Back inside Thames House, she emerged through the doors and into the controlled chaos of the Grid, and forced herself to set aside thoughts of the peanut and the impending disaster that would be her confession to Harry. She'd decided to leave that conversation for tomorrow, and as she settled herself down at her station and got back to work, she realized that had been a good decision. She felt too raw, just now, too exposed, too many emotions coursing through her veins; if she tried to tell him now, she'd never get through it, she'd just break down weeping or worse, end up saying something horrible to him. Something as horrible as _we couldn't be more together._ That wasn't how she wanted this conversation to go. She needed just a little more time, a little time to pull herself together, to come up with a plan, to find the kindest combination of words to shatter his world.

"Oh good, you're back," Tariq said, jogging over to her station and breaking the bubble of quiet contemplation she'd drawn around herself.

"What did I miss?" Ruth asked him, half listening as she dug through the truly shocking number of emails she'd received in the brief time she'd been gone.

"Beth's got herself a new job," he said with a little lopsided grin. Tariq was such a _nice_ young man; eager and enthusiastic and somewhat awkward, he reminded her a little bit of Colin. He had none of Malcolm's prim reserve, but was blessed instead with a more jocular nature, always ready with a witty one-liner, always game for a drink at the George after work. _Poor Colin,_ she thought, thrown by a sudden wave of melancholia. Colin never should have been in that van that day, never should have been alone; like her, he was a desk spook, valued for intellect, not physicality, and his death still hurt. It had been buried, perhaps, submerged beneath the weight of all their other losses, but still the grief was there. Did the same fate await Tariq? She wondered. Would the Service come calling one day, and demand that he give all that he had? She desperately hoped not, desperately wished that they could all remain safely ensconced within the brick and mortar of Thames House, but she knew better. They served the realm, to whatever end, whatever the cost.

"When does she start?"

"Tomorrow. She's on her way back now."

Ruth nodded. That was good. A bit quick, but hopefully Hannah McCallister wouldn't be too suspicious. The woman didn't look like much of a threat, but either she'd had the presence of mind to order a Seva Gola or she worked for someone who did, and either way that meant that she was dangerous. Beth would need to tread very, very lightly.

"I've been going over her bank statements, and I think I've figured out what we're dealing with."

That got Ruth's attention. "I've been gone barely three hours and you've solved our little mystery already?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tariq beamed at her. "It took me a while to piece it together, but yeah, I think I've got it."

He shuffled through the papers he'd been carrying, and laid them out on her desk. "Over the last six months, Hannah McCallister has made a dozen donations to a non-profit called _A Better Choice."_

There was something about a spook with a good lead, Ruth thought wryly; they were always eager to share what they'd learned, to bask in the glow of their achievement, but they never just came right out with the information. They always made you work for it. Tariq paused, no doubt waiting for her to betray her anticipation of his next works and ask about this development, but Ruth simply stared at him, a rather unimpressed expression on her face, and he blushed slightly, no doubt realizing exactly what she was thinking. With a start, she realized it was exactly the same thing Harry would have done; they really had spent entirely too much time together, over the last few years. They were starting to rub off on one another.

"I looked into it. They're a small, radical anti-abortion group. They've been involved with a few low-level protests in the past but around the same time Hannah McCallister made her first donation, they started assaulting doctors. One of their members threw a molotov cocktail through a window at a private clinic last month."

"Wonderful," Ruth said with a little sigh. It certainly fit; McCallister was a nurse in a maternity ward, well educated but perhaps a bit over-emotional, and her involvement with this group was the closest thing they had to a lead so far. "I'll reach out to some of my contacts, see if this group is on anyone's radar. In the past, have they focused on any one clinic in particular, or are they more equal-opportunity in their approach?"

Tariq gave a little smile. "They're based here in London, and so far they haven't strayed outside the city. If they're planning to bomb a clinic, chances are it will be here."

Ruth nodded. "Good work, Tariq. Get your report ready; we'll have another meeting, as soon as Beth gets back."

* * *

"You'll need to give her a code name," Ruth said quietly to Beth as they stood alone together in the kitchenette, Beth drinking her tea and Ruth sipping on the hot chai Beth had picked up on her way back to Thames House. Chai wasn't something they stocked on the Grid, ordinarily, and Ruth had been hesitant to bring it in with her, lest the sudden change in her habits raise suspicions. Beth was more than happy to bring it to her, in a perfectly nondescript cup, and Ruth had been duly grateful.

"What do I call her?" Beth asked, running through the possibilities in her mind. _Miserable witch_ was at the top of the list, at the moment; Beth had only spent about three quarters of an hour in Hannah McCallister's company, so far, and as far she was concerned that was too long. McCallister had been curt and not particularly welcoming; if that had been a real job interview, Beth would have run screaming from the hospital, and never looked back. As it was, she just smiled and nodded and feigned enthusiasm until her jaw ached from the pressure of holding her façade in place.

Ruth's eyes grew far away for a moment, as she considered the answer, no doubt lost in the endless vault of her own mind, digging through all the information she stored there as Beth might dig through a filing cabinet, until she landed on the piece she wanted.

"Medea," Ruth suggested finally. "Call her Medea."

Trust Ruth, Beth thought wryly, to come up with something so very tragic, and so very Greek.

"Murdered her own children, just to get revenge on her husband," Ruth continued, as if Beth didn't know the story. Of course she knew the story; Beth had read her Euripides, thank you very much.

"You think that's what McCallister is doing?"

"If she's planning to bomb a clinic with patients inside, she's planning to commit exactly the sort of act she's trying to protest. She's cutting off her nose to spite her face," Ruth explained.

Beth just nodded, and took another sip of tea.

"How did things go with Brewer?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light and nonchalant. They were alone in the kitchenette, at the moment, but they were also standing in a building full of spies; privacy was never a given, inside Thames House. Beth very much wanted to know how Ruth's appointment had gone, but they were still telling everyone she'd been off meeting with an asset, and Beth didn't want to be the one to blow her cover.

Beside her, Ruth sipped her drink in silence, no doubt trying to come up with an appropriately subtle way to answer the question. _Riddles and lies, the life of a spook,_ Beth thought to herself.

"As much as I enjoyed his company today, I don't see any reason for us to continue this charade with him," Ruth said finally.

Beth pondered this for a moment, trying to work out exactly what her friend meant, and then it hit her; the scan had gone well, and Ruth was ready to tell Harry. She very nearly did a little jig on the spot, she was so pleased.

"I think that's a good decision," she said rather lamely, and Ruth rewarded her with a wan little smile.

"I hope it's not one I'll come to regret," she said softly.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity, as they hunted down everything they could on A Better Choice, and Beth scurried over to Medea's home with a team of techies in tow, to plant a few well-placed bugs and set up a surveillance rotation. This was only one of several bomb threats they were investigating, at the moment, and resources were pushed to a breaking point. Tempers were high, breaks were nonexistent, and still the work piled up.

To maintain her legend as a young nurse Beth was installed in a safe house, a tiny flat in a tower block not far from the hospital, and Ruth returned that night to an empty flat for the first time since Beth had been foisted off on her two months before.

Her home was eerily quiet, without the girl there to blast the telly and ask about her day and tease her gently about her choice of supper (beans on toast, with a few slices of avocado and a bowl of ice cream, on the side). Ruth had almost forgotten how oppressive it could be, the quiet, but tonight it weighed down on her, and though she tried to distract herself, alternately playing with her cat and perusing the first of several parenting books she'd purchased, she could not seem to escape it. When Harry called, the sound of her mobile ringing startled her so badly she nearly leapt out of her chair, and so was breathless and disoriented when she answered.

"Hello?" she gasped.

"Ruth? Are you all right?" Harry sounded concerned.

"Fine, fine, you just caught me off guard, that's all," she explained, and on the other end of the line Harry chuckled.

"Which book did you have your nose buried in this time?" he asked gently.

These phone calls had become something of a ritual for them; for the last few weeks, Harry had called her every night. Sometimes he rang from his office on the Grid, trapped beneath a mountain of paperwork. Sometimes he rang from the back of his car, as his driver wound through the streets of London, carrying him home. Sometimes he called her from his kitchen table, his words muffled as he tried to eat and speak at the same time. Wherever he was, he called her.

In the beginning, they'd spoken only about work. Harry had established that rule for them early on, no doubt as a means to protect himself from her and her tendency to say careless, cutting words when they drew to near the personal. Over time, however, they had rather naturally ventured away from the professional, and Ruth was terrified and pleased by this in equal measure.

His question had been meant as a bit of tease, she was sure, but she could not answer him truthfully, and she was sick to death of lying to him.

" _Medea_ ," she answered quickly, saying the first word that popped into her mind. "Since that's what Beth has decided to call our suspect, I thought I'd brush up on the story."

"I should have guessed," he said, and her heart started to beat a little harder in her chest. For the life of her, she could not think of a single thing to say to that.

 _Would you like to come over, Harry?_

The words were right on the tip of her tongue, just on the very edge of spilling out. He could come round to hers tonight, she could make him a cup of tea (or perhaps pour him a glass of whiskey; he would need the fortification) and she could reach into the pocket of her coat and pull out the copy of the scan and….

And what? Watch as he turned away from her in horror and disgust? Sit and listen as he shouted at her? Shatter into a million pieces as he spewed anger and hate at her until she could take no more?

"I hadn't realized I was so predictable, Harry," she said finally, only realizing after the words were spoken just how flirtatious they sounded.

"Only to me," he answered quietly.

* * *

Three days passed, and Beth grew no closer to finding out Medea's plan. The woman did not trust her, hardly spared her the time of day, and Beth was finding her duties as a nurse both incredibly distasteful and incredibly distracting. She hated being around sick people, always had done, and while most of her patients were pregnant, not ill, there was still enough…unpleasantness to keep her busy, and too far away from her mark to her liking. They had to cut back on the surveillance, because they simply didn't have the manpower, and Harry was growing grumpier by the minute. It was not a good time to be Beth Bailey.

Beth loathed her little flat; as nice as it was to come home to peace and quiet, after being surrounded by screaming women and various bodily fluids for hours, she was finding it difficult to be on her own again. Over the last two months, she'd grown rather used to Ruth's calm, steady presence in her life, and had looked forward to talking to her friend after work, to having someone she could unburden herself to, someone she could laugh with. And she fretted about Ruth, who had no doubt eaten beans on toast for supper each of the last three nights. She wanted to be there, with Ruth, wanted to be home.

The surveillance on Medea had provided some information, but not nearly enough. She was definitely planning something, and whatever that something was, it was definitely violent, but she'd been careful not to speak too openly to any of her compatriots from A Better Choice. They were always rather smug in their conversations, convinced that no one would be able to stop them, but Medea had grown quite paranoid, and insisted on speaking in code. It wasn't a very complex code, but it was vexing, nonetheless. Yes, she had a bomb, and yes she was planning to use it, but God only knew when and God only knew where.

A break in the case came on the fourth day, when Beth turned up for work, and Medea was nowhere in sight. She called in to the Grid, speaking to Ruth and calling her "mum", just in case anyone was listening. As discretely as she could she relayed the information about their missing suspect, and Ruth promised to get on it, right away.

* * *

"It's today, it's going to be today," Tariq said breathlessly as he stormed into Harry's office waving a stack of papers.

Ruth fought the urge to take him by the shoulders and give him a good shake. That young man had a tendency to burst into Harry's office at exactly the wrong moments, always interrupting them when they were right on the verge of finally saying something that needed to be said. Ruth had just arrived on the Grid; immediately upon entering, she'd received a call from Beth, and had got straight to work, not bothering to take off her coat. She told Dimitri to follow up with the surveillance team and reached into her coat pocket to retrieve her mobile, and her fingers had come into contact with the scan she'd tucked away in her pocket just a few days earlier.

 _Do it now,_ she'd told herself, _do it now, before you have a chance to think it through._

She'd gone straight to Harry's office, her coat still on and her hand clutching the picture tight, deep inside her pocket.

And then came Tariq, to blow all her well-laid plans to hell.

"What's this?" Harry demanded.

"The surveillance team swears Medea never left her house, but we've just checked, and no one's home. She snuck out, sometime in the night. She didn't come into work, and we picked up some chatter from one of her associates, from the charity. They're going to detonate the bomb, today, while the clinic is full of people."

"Which clinic?" Ruth asked, her heart stuttering in her chest as she was gripped by fear. Lucas and Dimitri came rushing into the office together, their faces drawn and worried.

"We don't know," Tariq said slowly.

"Christ," Harry said, rubbing his temples.

"Tariq, run a facial recognition search, see if Medea's popped up on any of our cameras," Lucas barked, and Tariq all but flew out of the office in a flurry of papers.

"We don't have the manpower to search every private clinic in London and the surrounding area for this woman," Harry growled.

"No, but we've got a few likely places, a few spots some of her fellow conspirators have mentioned in passing," Lucas said.

"How many is a few?" Ruth asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

"Five."

 _Shit._

"Dimitri and I can go. We'll take some agents from CO-19, break into two teams, and start checking the possible sites, starting with the ones closet to Medea's home and working our way out from there."

Harry nodded. "Go."

Dimitri and Lucas all but ran from the room.

"What are the chances, do you think?" Ruth asked, her heart sitting heavy as a stone in her chest.

Harry simply gave her a look, a look which said all too plainly _not bloody good._

* * *

"Ruth, Ruth, Beth's found something," Tariq caught her just as she was coming out of the ladies'. The nausea had mostly subsided, now that she was through the first trimester, but it still reared its ugly head from time to time, most often when she forgot to eat, as she had that morning. Her stomach still roiled and she desperately needed something to take the taste of sick out of her mouth, but there was no time for that when Tariq was all but hopping up and down with anxiety.

"What is it?"

"The clinic, it's not any of the ones on our list," he said grimly.

"Harry's office," Ruth said shortly, and they all but ran down the corridor, both their face drawn and pale.

"Medea's on to us, she figured out we were on to her the day Beth walked into the hospital," Tariq explained as they gathered in Harry's office. Beyond them the Grid was all but deserted, as every agent they had was currently in the field, either hunting Medea or chasing down one of the dozen different threats they were investigating that day. "I've got Beth on the line, Harry can you put her on speaker?"

Harry looked like he was on the verge of saying something particularly nasty, so Ruth simply leaned around him and did it herself.

"Beth?"

"I'm just leaving Medea's house now. We've found something," Beth's voice came through the speakers, tinny and scared and small.

"What is it?" Ruth asked, exasperated. _Bloody spooks,_ she thought.

"A map. It's a map, with three clinics circled. None of them were on our list."

 _Shit._ Things just kept getting worse and worse. It couldn't be _one_ clinic, no, it had to be _three_ , when their personnel were spread out all over the city and CO-19 were insisting they had no more bodies to spare and bomb disposal was already working on another threat.

"Can you send us the list?" Harry asked.

"Already done," Tariq interrupted, pushing his tablet under Harry's nose so he could see the photo of the map Beth had emailed over.

"I'm on my way to the clinic on Burrell Street," Beth answered breathlessly. "Dimitri's team is closer to Earls Court, so they're heading over there now. Which leaves-"

"Whitfield Street," Ruth answered quietly. The clinic closest to Thames House. Harry's head jerked up as if he knew what she was about to suggest, and he was about to point out what a bloody stupid idea it was. Surprisingly, Beth got there first.

"Ruth, I don't think-"

"Beth," she interrupted sharply, "I can be there in under fifteen minutes. I'll take a look around, and if she's there, I'll call in for backup. We don't have anyone else available right now, and we need to make sure it's secure."

There was a long moment of silence, as Ruth held her breath and Harry stared at her and Tariq stared at the floor and Beth's mobile connection crackled in the background.

"We can wait; Lucas's team can be there in thirty minutes," Beth said finally.

"And she could set off the bomb in twenty. Send Lucas over there, right now if you like, and he can meet me."

"I don't like this," Harry said quietly. There was something in his gaze; was it pain, she wondered? Did it hurt him, to think she might put herself in danger? _Oh Harry, you don't know the half of it,_ she thought sadly.

"Regnum defende, Harry," she said aloud. For that moment, it was as if nothing else existed, outside the two of them. Harry looked at her, his eyes begging her to stay, and she looked at him, her eyes begging him to let her go. "Someone has to go."

Finally, he nodded.


	15. Chapter 15

_Breathe. Just breathe. Everything is fine. Just breathe._

Ruth repeated the words over and over again as she walked slowly through the clinic, a mantra to slow the frantic stuttering of her heart in her chest. Before she'd left Thames House Tariq had fitted her with a button cam and a mic and an earpiece and wished her good luck as he sent her on her way. That meant that in the forgery suite he could see and hear everything she could, but she took little comfort in that fact. She knew Harry had to be sitting beside Tariq now, listening to the feeds from all the coms; ordinarily, he would have sequestered himself in his office, but she was the one in the field today, and she knew that he would be more watchful because of it. There was no buzzing in her ear at the moment, however; Ruth had requested radio silence on her end, not wanting the chatter between Lucas and Beth and Dimitri and Tariq to distract her.

Most likely Medea was nowhere near this clinic. There were three possible targets, circled on the map Beth had found in the woman's home, and there was always a chance that Medea had simply fled, once she realized she'd been found out. Their suspect could be halfway to freedom, by now, running hard and fast, and all their efforts could be for naught.

 _Or she could be here, hiding just around that corner,_ a small, terrified voice whispered in the back of Ruth's mind as she walked.

Tariq had promised to inform her, if any of the other teams found Medea before she did, and so far, there had been no word from him.

So still, she walked.

It was funny, how easily she could blend into a crowd. Fading from sight had always been a special skill of hers, and she'd honed it over time. No one took notice of her, anymore; she was just a slight woman in dark clothes, a woman who wore almost no jewelry, and no make-up, and nothing about her appearance would stick in anyone's mind, after she was gone. Ruth had left the chunky necklaces and bright lipsticks of her youth far behind her, fully embracing her role as a spook, a walking shadow, and she was grateful for it now. She kept her head down, watching the clinic pass by her through thick eyelashes, clocking every face and breathing a small sigh of relief every time she registered someone other than Hannah McCallister.

Volunteering to come out to this clinic had perhaps been a bit foolish, but she truly believed she had to go. Tariq was needed on the Grid, to monitor the tech and direct traffic. Beth and the rest of the field spooks were already out in the city, checking other possible locations. Someone had to confirm that this clinic was not the target, and it needed to be done sooner rather than later. With everyone else gone, Ruth was the senior officer on the Grid, and she knew the task fell to her. That didn't mean she was happy about it; putting herself in danger was one thing, but she had taken the peanut along for the ride, and the knowledge that she was willingly putting him at risk made her uneasy. _What kind of mother would do that to her child?_ She asked herself.

She'd reached the end of a long hall; a door barred her path, the words _employees only_ marked on it in heavy black letters. This wasn't the way to the examination rooms, she knew; those were far behind her, and she had already verified that Medea wasn't there. A break room, perhaps?

No one else had come this way, and Ruth supposed whatever was on the other side of that door wasn't a popular destination, inside the clinic. As she drew level with the door she saw the security on it was minimal; no pin-pad or ID card scanner, here, just a good old fashioned lock.

A lock that someone else had already picked, she realized. The door was open, just a crack, but open nonetheless.

 _Here we go,_ she thought grimly.

As quietly as she could, Ruth pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

She found herself in another short, deserted corridor, turning sharply to the left just ahead. There were no doors leading off the hall, and she had no choice but to continue on. Tariq was watching, she knew, and Harry, too; Lucas was on his way, would be here any minute. All she had to do was walk, and then run, if she saw anything conspicuous.

Two more steps, and she rounded the corner. There were a few doors here, leading off to the left and the right, but only one was open. The hall was eerily silent; even her own footsteps made no noise as she approached that open door. A small sign hung on the door, bearing the word _Security._

 _Fantastic,_ Ruth thought, her heart beating even more quickly now as she fought the urge to turn tail and run. _Keep going,_ she told herself, _you always wanted to be a proper spy._

As carefully as she could, Ruth moved through the open doorway, trying not to make a sound.

There was a bank of monitors across the room from her, each of them running a black and white video feed, presumably from the security cameras upstairs. Ruth took another step, her eyes going to the corners of the room, searching for movement, some sign that she was not alone. She found none.

Ruth breathed a sigh of relief, and lowered her head, her lips parting as she prepared herself to give Tariq the all-clear.

Before she ever got the chance, the door slammed shut behind her.

 _Shit,_ she thought.

* * *

"Shit!" Tariq swore as the sound of the door closing echoed through the speakers and Ruth spun around, the button cam he'd fastened to her coat going fuzzy for a moment before it refocused on the image of Hannah McCallister, their Medea, with a trigger clutched in her hand and an expression of unhinged fury coloring her features.

Beth had only just come skidding into the forgery suite, returning to Thames House on Harry's orders after leaving a contingent of plainclothes police officers in charge of searching the clinic she'd originally intended to visit herself. Harry had been insistent that she return; _you wanted to run this op,_ he'd said, _and I need a field agent on the Grid, in case things go south. Lucas is on his way to meet up with Ruth; you come back to base. Now._

So she had, though in her heart she feared that Ruth needed her, that _she_ ought to be the one walking alone through that clinic in Whitfield, not Ruth. Now was not the time for questioning Harry's orders, though, when Beth was the one who'd lost the mark, the one who had failed to obtain any useful information about the potential threat in the first place. Perhaps this was Harry's way of punishing her, forcing her to sit idle and watch while her friends risked their lives, their safety compromised because of her, because of her failures.

Harry was seated next to Tariq, and the moment Medea's face came into view he tensed, his whole body suddenly tight and immobile.

"Put your hands above your head," Medea said in a quiet voice.

The camera didn't afford them the luxury of seeing Ruth's face; all they saw was Medea, and the trigger she held, thrust out in front of her as if it were a gun. The mic, on the other hand, brought them perfect surround sound; they heard the rustling of fabric, as Ruth followed her captor's orders, and raised her hands.

"I'm unarmed," Ruth said in an unsteady voice.

Beth curled her fingers around the back of Tariq's chair, shocked into silence as horror rose in her throat.

 _Not Ruth, please not Ruth, she was so happy, she couldn't stop looking at that stupid bloody scan…_

Tariq was speaking quietly to Lucas and Dimitri, ordering bomb disposal and as many CO-19 officers as they could get their hands on down to the Whitfield Street clinic.

"Take off your coat," Medea said, and Ruth did as ordered. The video shuddered for a moment, as Ruth removed her coat and Medea took it, hanging it up neatly on a peg beside the door. Their perspective shifted, able to take in the sight of both women, Ruth pale but resolved as she stood very still in the center of the room with her hands raised up high, Medea furious but calm as she kept her finger much too close to the trip switch for Beth's liking.

"What are you? Police?" Medea sneered. It was clear she thought she had the upper hand, and, for the moment, Beth had to agree with her.

"No. Security Services. My name is Louisa Ramsay," Ruth answered.

"You're a spook?" Medea seemed impressed, that she warranted that kind of attention.

Ruth nodded. "Can I put my hands down, now?" she asked.

"Sit, there. And be quiet." Medea gestured towards an empty chair in front of the monitors, and Ruth crossed the room, folding herself into the chair and wrapping her arms around her middle.

 _She's waiting for something,_ Beth realized, watching the way Medea's eyes kept flickering to the screens in the back of the room. Whatever signal was coming, Beth hoped it could be delayed by ten minutes. Ten minutes was all they needed, to get armed officers into that clinic, and then they could-

"The minute I see one of your people come through that door, I'm blowing us all to hell," Medea said quietly.

"I have absolutely no way of telling them that," Ruth said. "My mobile's in my coat pocket, and I didn't have time to put on a mic before I left."

 _Smart girl,_ Beth thought, even as she trembled with fear. It was a good plan; it would make Medea think they were completely alone, make her think that Ruth was completely vulnerable, and maybe, just maybe, it would give the rest of them a chance to think of a new approach.

Harry leaned forward, and spoke to Lucas briefly, asking him if there were any women amongst the various field officers and plods he'd managed to collect on his whirlwind jaunt around the city. A woman entering the clinic alone, or in the company of one man, would raise far less suspicion than Lucas storming in there by himself. They had to get to Ruth, they had to.

"How did you get so lucky, sent down here all by yourself?" Medea asked, leaning back against the door and checking her watch. She seemed remarkably calm, for a woman who was about to kill herself and forty or so other people.

Ruth shrugged. "There was no one else. I'm just an analyst, I'm not even supposed to be here. But someone had to come."

Lucas reported back to Harry- they were still ten minutes out, slowed by traffic (even though they were running straight through every light on the way), and there wasn't a single woman on his team.

"I really shouldn't be here," Ruth said, a slight note of panic in her voice. Beth couldn't be sure if that fear was real or feigned, if Ruth was really losing her grip or if she was just playing for time.

"Yeah, well-"

"No, you don't understand." There was something about Ruth's eyes, about the way they shone when her emotions were high; no one, not even Medea, could look away when Ruth turned that pleading gaze on them. "I'm pregnant."

 _Shit._

Harry drew in a sharp breath, rising from his chair then sitting back down again abruptly, clenching and unclenching his fists as if his brain had just short-circuited and he suddenly didn't know what to do with his body. His eyes were trained on Ruth's face, grainy on the video screen. Tariq spun around in his chair and shot Beth a confused look; for her part, Beth just shrugged, and held her breath.

Medea laughed. "You really think I'm going to believe that?"

"Look in my coat pocket. The left side. Please."

The plan was clear to Beth now; tell Medea the whole sad story, pique her interest, keep her talking, and pray for a miracle.

For a moment their suspect did not move; from this angle only her profile was visible, but it was clear her eyes were fixed on Ruth, evaluating, considering, plotting. _Believe her,_ Beth prayed, _believe her, it's the bloody truth, just believe her!_

Ever so slowly, never once taking her eyes from Ruth's face, Medea edged along the wall, her body obstructing their view for a moment as she dug through Ruth's coat pocket.

"I only just had my first scan a few days ago," Ruth continued in that same small, terrified voice. "I've kept the picture in my pocket ever since. I still can't quite believe it's real."

It was Harry's turn to spin around in his chair and fix Beth with a piercing stare. Harry knew there had been no time before Ruth left to come up with this plan, no time to get their hands on a fake scan for her take with her. Harry knew that scan was in her pocket all along. Harry knew she was telling the truth, and based on the way he was looking at her now, Beth could only assume that he knew the role Beth had played, in keeping that truth from him.

"Harry," Beth said softly, trying very hard not to cry. He blinked once, and turned back to the screens.

"You could have picked this up anywhere," Medea said slowly, her gaze flickering from the scan to Ruth and then back again.

Ruth lifted her hands, and rose slowly from her chair. "Look," she said, lifting up her loose, flowing shirt, turning in profile so Medea (and Harry) could see the curve of her stomach, just beginning to show. "It's early days, yet, but none of my clothes fit anymore."

Silence fell again, and Beth worried she might pass out from lack of oxygen as she struggled to breathe and to keep her fears to herself. _Harry never should have found out this way_ , she thought sadly. _God, please let Lucas get there, please let Ruth get out of this alive._

Medea put the scan back in Ruth's coat pocket, and crossed the room to examine the monitors again. "What the hell are you doing here, then? You must know what I'm about to do. How could you possibly put yourself in danger like this?" Medea's tone was deeply accusatory, and it sent a chill straight through Beth's heart.

Ruth shrugged. "It's my job," she said in a soft little voice, adjusting her shirt and dropping back into her chair. "It's my job to keep this country safe, not just for my child, but for all the children. For everyone."

"Yes, well, that's very noble of you. Pity you won't be saving anyone today. Now shut up, I'm trying to look for something."

Ruth held her silence, and Beth watched Lucas's progress on a little monitor off to the side of the main array; he was still eight minutes out.

"You could let me leave," Ruth said after a moment; Beth had to give it to her, she really sounded like she was on the verge of tears. In front of Beth Harry sat leaned forward in his chair, hardly blinking as he watched the two women on the screen.

"We both know I can't do that," Medea said without even glancing at her. "You'll try to evacuate the building on your way out, and that's not part of the plan."

Ruth gave a little gasp, sounding for all the world as if she were fighting back a sob. "Then could I call my husband, at least? I'd like to say goodbye to him."

"Your husband?" Medea asked spitefully. "You're not wearing a ring."

Ruth leaned back against her chair, arms still wrapped tightly around her, as if she were trying to shield the peanut from this wretched woman and the horror she was about to inflict. "I never do, at work. None of us do. His name's Harry," she added. There was something almost hopeful in her voice, something innocent and sweet, like a little girl, clinging to some sliver of faith, however small. "My husband. He's a very important man, my Harry," she continued in that same gentle, vaguely optimistic voice. "A knight of the realm, and everything."

"Does that make you Lady Louisa Ramsay?" Medea asked. Something about her had changed, in the last minute or so; she was leaning slightly towards Ruth, her gaze focused on the security camera feeds but her head cocked to the side like a cat that's just heard a strange noise. Ruth had captured her interest, Beth realized, feeling a wild surge of hope course through her.

"It does. I haven't told my Harry about the baby, yet. We're neither one of us young, any more, and after I miscarried last year we…we'd given up hope, you see. We thought children just weren't in the cards for us. I didn't want to tell him too soon; he'd be devastated if we lost this baby, too. I was going to tell him on Friday night. I was going to cook him his favorite supper, and I was going to give him that picture, of the scan. He'd be so happy," her voice broke on the word _happy_ , and she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she wept (or appeared to weep, Beth still couldn't quite tell).

"It's not my fault you're down here," Medea said, trying and failing to sound stern. _That's it Ruth, you're getting there_ , Beth silently encouraged her friend.

"What do you think is going to happen, when this all over?" Ruth asked her.

"People will have to face the reality of what they're doing, in places like this. People will stop and ask themselves why they're continuing to allow these atrocities to happen, every day. Your baby will die, but think of the thousands of babies that will be saved, when people band together to put an end to this genocide." There was a fanatical gleam in Medea's eyes, and the hope withered in Beth's chest. Harry was barely breathing, still hunched forward, and Dimitri and Lucas had gone silent as well, listening from their cars as the dreadful clash of wills continued.

"Are you sure?" Ruth asked. _Carefully, now, carefully…_ "I told you, my Harry is a very important man. What do you think will happen, when word gets out that I died here today? The news won't report me as a member of the security services; we die all the time, there's nothing special about one more dead spook. Maybe they'll say I was a nurse, like you, a poor, pregnant nurse who died trying to stop you from hurting all these people. And then my Harry will go on the telly – he looks quite good in a suit, you know – and he'll weep for the wife you murdered, the baby you murdered, the future you stole from him. And then they'll parade all the other husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters of all your other victims, they'll splash their pictures all over every newspaper-"

"Stop it," Medea said quietly, but Ruth carried on, relentless.

"You won't be remembered as a hero, Hannah, you'll be crucified. You'll be the villain of the story. People will curse your name, and try to put as much distance between you and them as they can. My Harry will make sure of it. He will take apart everything you've built, brick by bloody brick." It was a brilliant speech, really it was; Ruth's voice rose and fell in just the right cadence, quivering with emotion, and the skillfulness of it made Beth want to cheer.

Perhaps the reason Ruth sounded so certain, so completely genuine, was that she wasn't exactly lying, Beth realized. If Ruth did die, today, if Hannah McCallister and A Better Choice were responsible for taking Ruth and the peanut away from him, Harry would not rest until every single one of them was destroyed. He would turn Medea's legacy to ash and ruins.

"And what happens to me if I walk out of here with you, exactly?" Medea's voice wavered slightly, as if she were frightened by the sudden vehemence of Ruth's tone, but not once did the woman look away from the security camera feeds, still on high alert, waiting for her signal.

"If you kill all those people upstairs, you'll never have a chance to change their minds. You'll never have a chance to talk those mothers out of killing their babies. Those children will die, because of you. But if you live - if you show the world you were willing to die for your cause, and then commit your life to it – imagine how inspiring your story could become. If you die today, your legacy dies with you. If you live…you can write whatever story you want for yourself."

"And what about Doctor Harrison? What happens to him? Who holds him accountable for what he's done?"

Tariq leaned forward, whispering quietly to Ruth, "Harrison was Medea's doctor, eight years ago. She was pregnant, lost the baby, blames him. He left his practice, and has been working for this clinic ever since."

 _When did we find that out?_ Beth wondered, her thoughts dazed and unfocused. _How did we miss that? Why didn't we know?_

Tariq turned away from the speakers to address a thunderstruck Beth. "We found out about him while you were on your way back. It solidified the link between Medea and this clinic. That's why we sent Lucas to Whitfield, as backup."

At the mention of Lucas's name Beth's eyes flickered back to the screen where they were monitoring his progress via GPS. He was still two minutes away.

Harrison must be the signal, Beth realized; Medea was waiting for him to arrive; she wanted to be sure that when she blew up the clinic, Harrison was inside.

"Doctor Harrison isn't coming to work today, Hannah," Ruth said quietly. "We thought you might be after him, and we told him to stay home." One look at Tariq's face told Beth the truth; Ruth was just making this up as she went, and if Beth hadn't been so terrified, she would have been bloody proud. _She's a hell of a spook,_ Beth thought.

Medea let forth a wail of pain and anger, turning sharply away in frustration and grief, and in that moment, Ruth struck.

It wasn't a particularly heavy blow; Ruth had never been properly trained in hand-to-hand combat, but this wasn't an ordinary fight. This was a fight for her life, for her baby's life, and it only took one punch. Medea collapsed back against the monitors, momentarily stunned, and the trigger fell from her grip. There was a mad scramble, as the pair of them clawed at one another and fell to the floor together, dropping out of the frame. Through the mic, still securely fastened to Ruth's blouse, they could hear curses and the thud of blows and kicks, but a moment later Ruth emerged into sight victorious, her lip bleeding and the trigger clutched tight in her hands.

Medea's attention was all on Ruth, she wasn't watching the monitors-

"Now, Lucas, now!" Harry barked, the fury in his voice causing Beth to take a step back, away from him.

"It didn't have to be like this," Ruth said softly. "You could have-"

"What could I have done?" Medea shrieked. "He's a killer, he killed my baby, you know what that's like, you-"

The door burst open behind Ruth, and Medea sagged in defeat as Lucas led the armed team into the room, two CO-19 officers quickly taking hold of her, one on either side.

"Target has been neutralized," Lucas said in his calm, deep voice.

For a moment, silence reined, both on the grid and in that little room, buried at the heart of the Whitfield clinic. Ruth handed the trigger to Lucas, her breathing sharp and unsteady. The CO-19 officers started to lead Medea out the door, and as she passed Ruth she asked in a dead little voice, "Was any of it true?"

Ruth did not answer her. Instead, she pulled out her earpiece, retrieved her coat and removed the button cam. The monitor went dark, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Through Ruth's mic they heard the sound of footsteps, and then she spoke again.

"I'm giving my kit to Lucas, Harry," she said softly. "And I'm going home."

After that, there was only silence, again.

Back in the forgery suite, Beth was shaking so badly she had to lean against the wall for some support, and she felt herself in danger of collapsing onto the floor, the way Ruth had done so many weeks before. _She's ok,_ Beth reminded herself, _she's ok, the peanut's ok, everything is ok._

Without a sound, Harry rose from his chair, and turned to face her. His eyes were black with rage, a vein throbbing in his neck, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He walked right up to Beth, kept walking until his face was only an inch or two away from hers, and she blanched, trying to draw back from him, terrified of what he would say, now that he knew the truth, now that he knew exactly what Beth had risked with this op gone so horribly wrong.

The recrimination never came, however. He seemed to deflate before her very eyes, his shoulders sagging as he took a step back from her. Maybe he'd seen the fear on her face, or maybe he'd realized that his chances of holding his child in his arms were greatly diminished if he murdered one of his officers in the forgery suite. Whatever the reason, he turned from her, and left the room, marching straight across the Grid and out through the pods without ever looking back.

Well, he knew the truth, now. Harry knew Ruth, knew her intimately, knew her better than anyone else, and he knew the difference between truth and lie, coming from her lips. Ruth was not a consummate liar; the act she'd put on today only worked because so much of what she said had been absolute fact. He knew now, that she was pregnant, knew that it was his child, and if Lucas and Dimitri and Tariq had been really listening, they would know it, too.

 _What happens next?_ Beth wondered dully. _Where do we go from here?_

"Where's Harry gone?" Tariq asked, his face a picture of worry and concern.

"Where do you think?" Beth answered shortly, turning away from him.

She was willing to bet every penny she'd ever earned that Harry was, at this very moment, driving madly through London, running every light between Thames House and Ruth's flat.


	16. Chapter 16

Lucas didn't even try to stop her leaving. He took the mic, and the button cam, and the earpiece, and insisted that she let CO-19 give her a lift. Ruth argued against it; in that moment, when she could still feel her heart pounding in her chest, could still hear the rush of blood in her ears, could still see Hannah McCallister's face every time she closed her eyes, she very much wanted to take the bus. Forget the pool car she'd driven to the clinic; Ruth wanted to be among people, ordinary people with ordinary hopes and ordinary troubles. She wanted to be as far away from the madness of her own life as possible.

 _I like the bus…_ the memory came back to her unbidden, and she almost laughed aloud. How young she had been, then. How naïve. Hysteria bubbled at the back of her throat, sharp and painful, and she realized with a start that her hands were shaking.

 _Shock, you're in shock, just breathe,_ she told herself, knowing full well that if Lucas realized just how bad off she was he would insist on having her checked over by paramedics. She didn't want that, didn't want to be poked and prodded by strangers. She wanted to go home.

In the end, Lucas won, telling her that if she didn't accept the lift, he'd be calling Harry. Ruth couldn't face him, just now, so she gave in, and allowed a nice junior field officer named Paul to drive her home in the pool car. He didn't speak as they rode along and Ruth found herself mildly concerned by his silence. Dimitri, Lucas, Tariq, Beth, and Harry all had access to the com system; she could only assume that they had all heard her conversation with Medea, and now knew the truth. Who else had been listening? She asked herself, panic rising deep inside her. Had she just announced to the entire bloody world that she was carrying Harry Pearce's child?

 _Oh God, Harry._

What must he be thinking now? How furious must he be, knowing that she'd kept this secret from him, knowing that she had willfully placed herself and the peanut in harm's way?

Paul dropped her off, and she thanked him in a weak little voice, moving slowly as she made her way into her flat. Once inside she shed her coat, and walked on leaden feet down the hall to run a bath. She didn't trouble herself with turning on the lights; she wanted darkness, now, didn't want to have to face herself in the mirror. Piece by piece she peeled away her clothing, and sank into the water, leaning back against the edge of the tub and closing her eyes.

 _I'm so sorry, little one,_ she thought, running a gentle hand over the soft swell of her stomach. If she'd been a larger woman, she likely wouldn't be showing at all, at this stage, but there was a noticeable roundness there, just big enough to convince Medea of the truth, and save her life and the lives of everyone in that clinic. A very small part of Ruth was grateful she had been the one to face their suspect; who else could have talked Medea down? Ruth knew she carried the only possible weapon against such a woman inside her, but she hated herself for using the peanut in this way. He was her child, not her asset.

 _I will resign,_ she promised him, there in the dark and silence of her bathroom. _I will resign, and I will keep you safe._ She could see no other choice.

* * *

" _Ruth_."

Harry's voice was soft and low, and she smiled to herself, lost in the haze of dreams as she almost slept, there in the rapidly cooling water of her bath. She had always loved the way he said her name, and it was a pleasant dream, Harry there with her, Harry kissing her cheek, Harry holding her hand and stroking her hair so gently. For a moment she allowed her mind to wander, allowed her heart to open, just a bit, allowed her feelings for Harry to come to the surface for once. For months now she had forced those feelings away, had told herself that they could never be, that those two weeks she'd spent in his bed were all she would ever have of him, and that she must be content. She _wanted_ more, though, wanted to find her way back to him, if she could, if he would let her, if he would trust her, if he would only understand that she needed time to face him in her own way. That had always been their problem, she believed; Harry had never quite understood that she needed time, and space, needed to wrap her mind around what was happening between them, before she could follow her heart. He was so _passionate_ , so impulsive, so overwhelming in his affections that he made her feel as if she were drowning, and Ruth had always run from him, desperate to breathe. If only he would-

"Ruth," he said again, a little louder this time, and she almost screamed when she opened her eyes and found him sitting there on the floor beside her tub.

"Christ, Harry!" she cried, scrambling to the far edge of the tub, drawing her knees up against her chest and wrapping her arms around them in a futile attempt to hide her nakedness from him. Not that there was much point to that, any more; Harry had already seen her, had kissed and caressed and loved every inch of her skin, and had been sitting beside her just now for God only knew how long, but the instinct to hide was too strong to be denied.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, wishing he hadn't startled her so. She didn't want to be cross with him, didn't want to speak to him so harshly, but he had frightened her, and that fear clouded her mind, made it hard to breathe, to think, to speak at all.

"I think we need to talk," he answered in a deceptively calm sort of voice. Ruth recognized that voice; it was the tone Harry used when he was absolutely bloody furious, but trying to remain in control of the situation. This was his _boss spook_ voice, usually reserved for terrorists and unctuous politicians, and the realization that he was using it with _her_ made her miserable and angry in almost equal measure.

"So you thought you'd just break in?" she snapped back. _Oh, don't do this Ruth,_ she thought, _calm down, you have to calm down._

"In my defense I did ring the bell, and I did try to reach you on your mobile. I was worried about you, so yes, I broke in."

Ruth sighed, and scrubbed her face with her hands. They were really going to do this now, she knew, really going to have this conversation, and she needed to be careful. She didn't want to push him away, didn't want to hurt him any more than she already had done.

"Will you go into the kitchen, and put the kettle on? I'll get dressed, and then we can talk."

She raised her eyes to his face, her heart aching for him. It hadn't been a dream; Harry had been beside her, holding her hand, touching her face, whispering her name, and she missed the feeling of his hands on her skin. She wanted that warmth again, wanted the comfort his touch brought her, but they had to talk first, and she was dreading it.

Harry gave her a funny sort of look. "Should you be having tea, just now?" he asked. She bristled at the comment, but before she snapped at him she took a moment to register his expression; he wasn't admonishing her, he was genuinely asking.

Ruth gave him a tired little smile in return. "Don't worry, I'll be having herbal tea. No caffeine."

Satisfied, he nodded, and rose slowly to his feet, trying and failing to hide the grimace of pain that crossed his face as he did so. It was his knee, she knew; he was much too old and much to broken to go around sitting on the floor like that, and she was cross with herself for forcing him into this position. Harry left her there in the bath, and as soon as she was sure she was alone, she scrambled out of the tub and into her bathrobe.

It hadn't been so very long, since she'd left the clinic; Harry must have come straight here from Thames House, must have said _bugger the paperwork and bugger the cleanup_ , must have for once allowed the personal to outweigh the professional. She felt a surge of affection for him, that he should come to her so quickly, that she should mean so much to him, but that affection was rapidly overcome by guilt. How rattled must he be, to make such a rash decision? How deeply must he have been wounded, to simply abandon the Grid and come to her like this?

 _What have you done to him?_ She asked herself as she slipped into a soft, casual grey dress and attempted to restore some order to her hair. _Be kind to him,_ she decided. _He's been through enough._

When she finally entered the kitchen, she found Harry leaned up against the counter, staring out the window above the sink, his shoulders hunched and his knuckles white where he gripped the countertop. He was such an imposing man; not particularly tall, but broad and strong and intimidating, he had always carried himself rather like a boxer, a walking threat to any who dared oppose him. The very first time they met, when he interviewed Ruth for a position on his team, she had been momentarily frightened of him. Harry had spoken kindly to her, though, had laughed when she made a weak little joke, and his warmth had eased her anxiety. After that day, Ruth's confidence around him had only grown. Of course there had been moments, over the years, when he had scared her again, when the terrible truth of who he was and what he had done shone through, and she worried what he would do. Not that she was frightened for her own safety – Harry had always treated her well, had always been more of a protector to her than a menace – but frightened for him, for other people, frightened of the consequences of his rage.

There was so much between them now, so much more than she ever could have imagined, when she was young and sitting in that interview room with him. She had visited him in hospital, and kissed him by the riverside, had held him when he cried and felt him moving deep inside her. She had sat beside him at more funerals than she cared to count, had held his hand and listened to him share his dreams, had fought for him, died for him, lived for him, breathed for him. This man meant everything to her, and without him, she wasn't sure what she would be. If she were ever to tell the story of her life, he would be the beginning and the end, the impetus for her maturation, the dearest longing of her heart, the dagger twisting in her back. How strange it was, that before this moment, she had never realized how completely he owned her, and how desperately she needed him.

"Harry," she said softly, watching him turn away from his rumination by the sink to face her once more.

"Tea's ready," he answered, giving himself a little shake as he went back to the kettle. In the few minutes since he'd left her, Harry had apparently gone rummaging through the cupboards, and found Beth's supply of PG Tips, as well as her own stockpile of herbal teas, and had fixed them each a cup. He handed her a mug, and by unspoken agreement they sat together at the table, Ruth staring at her tea, Harry staring at her face. The weight of his gaze was so familiar to her, the act of gazing at one another so ingrained in the both of them that without looking she could feel his eyes on her, could imagine his exact expression. What she could not imagine, what she could not even comprehend, was how on earth they were going to get through this conversation without breaking each other in half.

"Ruth," he started, apparently having more of a plan than she did, but an idea struck her, and she stopped him before he could truly begin.

"Wait," she said, jumping up from her chair, "just wait. I want to show you something."

Without another word she hurried from the kitchen, and went rummaging through her coat pockets. The scan was still there, slightly crumpled now, and she smoothed it with shaking hands as she brought it back to him.

"I had my three month appointment a few days ago, and I've had my first scan." Ruth handed over the picture and took her seat across from him, watching him carefully as he stared at the little photograph of the peanut. It was hard, at this stage, to make out any distinct features, but there was no denying that what Harry held in his hands was a picture of a child; _their_ child. She studied his eyes, the turn of his mouth, the furrowing of his brow; was he feeling the same elation, the same terror, the same hope that she had felt, the first time she looked at that image?

Silence reigned between them for long minutes as Harry devoured the photo with his gaze, and Ruth sipped her tea, waiting for him to speak. His own tea sat beside him, untouched.

Eventually, though, Harry regained control of himself, and lifted his eyes to her face. She could not fathom what she saw there; was it astonishment, was it anger, was it fear?

"Is it-"

" _Jesus_ , Harry," she cut him off, resentment flooding her, making her bold. "How dare you ask me that? Of course it's yours, I can't believe-"

"That wasn't what I was asking, Ruth." It was his turn to interrupt. If she hadn't been so angry, she might have noticed the way his mouth turned up slightly in an expression that was almost – not quite, but _almost_ – amused.

"I wasn't asking if it were mine. I know very well whose bed you were in three months ago." She blushed scarlet at his words, dropping her gaze to her tea as warmth flooded her, at the recollection of his bed, and what they had done there. "I was only asking, is it healthy? Is everything all right?"

Ruth nodded, still deeply embarrassed by her outburst, still refusing to look at him. "The doctor says everything is fine. He's a good size, his heartbeat is steady."

"His?" Harry asked. Was that hope she heard in his voice? _This can't be happening,_ Ruth thought, dazed. She and Harry were sat at her table drinking tea and talking about their baby. The very idea was so foreign to her, so strange, that she simply couldn't wrap her mind around it.

"No, it's too early to say for sure. I just don't like calling him 'it'. In a few weeks I have to go back for an amniocentesis-"

"Is that the one with the bloody big needle?" Harry interrupted her again, and Ruth laughed aloud. Beth had asked the same thing, in the same horrified-but-slightly-curious tone of voice.

"Yes," she said, as her laughter faded. "They test the amniotic fluid to make sure there are no genetic anomalies, and they'll be able to tell us the gender then."

Harry nodded, steepling his fingers together on the tabletop the way he so often did when he was sat behind his desk on the Grid. The gesture was heartrendingly familiar to her, and she wondered if he was applying the same approach to this conversation that he would to an operation at work.

"Is that dangerous?" he asked carefully.

Ruth sighed, and took another sip of her tea. "It can be," she allowed finally, "but they use ultrasound to make sure that they don't hit the baby, with the needle, and the doctor thinks it's necessary. Apparently, given my age and my history, this pregnancy is deemed 'high-risk'."

 _Oh, shit._

Ruth hadn't meant to say that. Ruth never, ever wanted to talk to Harry about the child she'd lost, about just how much she had suffered, when she came back from Cyprus. She didn't want him to know, didn't want to him ask, but with those two little words – _my history –_ she'd given herself away. Up until this moment, she could have pretended that what she'd told Medea, about miscarrying the year before, had been no more than a lie to earn the woman's trust. Now though, she had rather casually, carelessly revealed the truth to him, and when she looked into his eyes, she saw that he recognized that truth.

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Harry asked.

 _Tell you what?_ She wondered. _Tell you about this baby, or the one I lost?_ She decided to gloss over the subject of George's baby. That was not a conversation she was prepared to have; she was only just barely coping with the topic at hand.

"I decided to wait until after the scan, to tell you." Harry pursed his lips, and she knew then that he hadn't been asking about this baby at all. He _had_ been wondering if she would ever had told him about the miscarriage, had been wondering about what she'd gone through, about her pain, and he was clearly disappointed that she was avoiding the subject. He wouldn't press her now, she knew, but eventually, he would, and she dreaded that moment. Right now, though, she was determined to focus on the present.

"Before I told you I wanted to be sure that he was all right, that there really was a need for you to know. I tried to tell you this morning but then-"

"Tariq," Harry finished for her, with a sardonic turn to his mouth. "That young man has no sense of timing."

Ruth looked up at him sharply. _You're one to talk,_ she thought bitterly. She didn't say it aloud, and the expression on Harry's face told her that she didn't need to, that he was recalling his botched proposal, just as she was.

"I would have liked, very much, to have been at that scan with you," Harry said quietly, breaking the silence that had fallen between them and momentarily lifting the weight of their past from their shoulders.

"I know," Ruth answered. She regretted that choice so deeply; it had not been done out of malice, but she knew now that excluding him from the scan had been wrong, and unkind, and she was determined not to do it again. "I'd like it if you were to come with me, next time," she continued.

Harry nodded, obviously trying not to let her know how he pleased he was by the offer. "I'd like that. Just tell me when, and I'll be there."

"I will. Oh," she added, when Harry rather reluctantly started to hand the scan back to her. "That's yours. I had the doctor make me two copies. That one is for you to keep."

"Thank you," he said earnestly, tucking the scan away in a little pocket inside his jacket where it came to rest next to his heart.

For a time they were quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Ruth had made a promise to the peanut, while she had been soaking in the bath, a promise to herself, and Harry needed to know what she'd decided. So far this conversation had gone so much better than she could have hoped, and she dreaded telling him about her plans to leave him. Now seemed as good a time as any, though, and the sooner she told him, the sooner they could both move forward.

"I've decided to resign, Harry."

He looked up at her sharply, shock and pain written across his weathered face.

"Ruth-"

"I can't risk something like this happening again, Harry. I can't. I need to take care of him, I need to keep him safe."

Harry leaned towards her in his chair, his eyes beseeching. "Ruth, if you leave, I can't speak to you. I can't see you. You know the rules."

"Surely there must be an exception, for a situation like this?" She couldn't imagine that the service would keep a father away from his child, but Harry was shaking his head.

"There isn't. If we were married, things would be different, but as we are now, I would not be permitted to see you. And you can be certain, they would be watching me closely."

"You speak to Malcolm," she pointed out, her tone faintly accusing. Why did he always have to be so bloody stubborn?

"I speak to Malcolm using a burner phone, no more than once a month. Is that what you want for us?"

 _Please, God, no,_ she thought. For weeks now, she had entertained herself in quiet moments by imagining Harry and their child, together. She could not fathom a world in which Harry was not allowed to see her or the peanut, but likewise she could not stomach the thought of continuing on with 5, of risking her life when she had a child to care for. She loved her job, loved it desperately, but she truly believed that if she were going to be a good mother, her child's needs had to come before her own selfish desires. And what the peanut needed most was his parents, preferably both of them, preferably alive and well.

"Stay on, at least for a little while," Harry suggested. "You can take maternity leave, when the time comes, and you've got more holiday time saved up than anyone else in the section. Give us some time to come up with a plan. Don't leave yet." _Don't leave me_ , she heard his unspoken plea.

"You can't promise me I won't have to go into the field again, Harry," she pointed out. Harry started to protest, but she cut him off. "Colin was never supposed to go into the field, remember? Colin was supposed to be safe behind his desk. Look what happened to him." She shuddered, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle as she remembered.

"Colin didn't have a child at home," Harry responded patiently. "I could make an exception for you-"

"Christ, Harry, if you did that everyone would say it was preferential treatment! They'd say you were protecting me because we were shagging on the side-"

"I don't give a damn what anyone says!" He didn't shout, exactly, but his tone was harsh, and brooked no argument. "Ruth," he started again, softer this time. "Everyone would understand, if I chose to keep you at Thames House. It would make sense, to protect you, for the sake of your child." _Your child,_ he'd said, not _ours,_ and she wondered how much it had hurt him, to make that distinction.

"Adam had a child," Ruth said dully. "Adam was a single parent, and he received no special dispensation. Look where it got him. Wes is all alone, now, forever. I don't want that to happen to my baby – our baby." _Our baby._ She needed him to hear that, need him to know that she had no intention of keeping the peanut away from him. It was the first time she'd said the words aloud, and she noticed the look of recognition, the look of pride that washed over Harry's features for a moment before he got himself in check.

"Give it some time," he said finally. "Traditionally, we do keep pregnant employees behind a desk. No one would think it odd, if you didn't go out until the field just now. Once the baby's born, we can revisit this discussion."

"Traditionally, Harry, we ship pregnant employees off to other Sections."

It was the truth, much as it pained her to say it. Counterterrorism was no place for people with children, and when Section D recruited, they specifically sought agents with little to no family ties. Most of their agents were unmarried, and of the few who did have children, most were like Harry, estranged from their loved ones, and unlikely to ever ask for time off for school events or sick days. When that changed, it usually fell to Harry to rather callously suggest that they might prefer a more stable working environment. He knew that, as well as she. He was scrambling for some way to keep her in his life, and the sting of it left her raw and unbalanced.

"Ruth, please-"

"I'll stay," she said dejectedly. "I'll stay, and work until it's time to take leave. I can't promise you more than that, Harry."

He nodded, satisfied. "That's all right, Ruth. We just need some time, to work out how we're going to proceed."

 _We just need some time,_ she thought. _We._ They were in this together, now, facing their new reality as a unit, if not a couple. She wasn't alone, any more. That thought was as terrifying as it was comforting.

Harry's mobile buzzed, breaking the stillness they had drawn around themselves like a shroud. He gave her an apologetic look before fishing it out of his pocket, and checking the message.

"I have to go back," he said, and she could hear the regret in his voice. "The Home Secretary has requested a meeting."

 _Why? Oh God, does he know, too? Has word travelled that quickly?_

Harry seemed to read the fear in her face; he gave a little shake of his head, as if to say _no, it's not that, don't worry._

"I think we still have a lot of ground to cover, Ruth," he said, rising from his chair and crossing the kitchen to empty his mug in the sink. "Would you mind coming round to mine, sometime this week, so we can make plans? I'll cook."

She nodded dumbly. It wasn't an invitation for a date, she knew, but the idea of spending an evening alone in Harry's home filled her with the same sort of anticipation, the same sort of apprehension. He was right, though; they hadn't even touched on the subject of telling their coworkers, or Beth's complicity in Ruth's deception, or how they wanted their relationship to progress, once the baby came. _A lot of ground to cover;_ it felt more like an ocean stretching between them, fraught with heartache and possibilities.

"Could we do it tonight?" she asked before she could stop herself. "I'd quite like to have a plan in place, before I go back to work tomorrow."

Harry was looking at her strangely, as if he couldn't quite believe his ears, but he nodded in agreement. "I'll ring you, when I leave the office."

Ruth rose as well, and she noted the way Harry's eyes drifted to her stomach, as if searching for some confirmation that the peanut really was there. She smiled at him when his gaze snapped back up to her face.

"I'll see you tonight, then," he said gruffly before making his way out of the kitchen; there was a moment, no longer than the length of a heartbeat, when he drew level with her and she thought he might lean in to kiss her goodbye, but before she could register what was happening he was gone, and she was alone again.

 _That went rather well, didn't it, peanut?_ She thought.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I hadn't intended to do a Harry chapter, and I'm not sure that I will do very many of these over the course of this story, but I felt some insight into Harry's thoughts and motivations was necessary, at this point.**

* * *

Upon his return from Whitehall, Harry went straight into his office, looking neither right nor left. He was in no mood for a chat, just now, his thoughts too chaotic and too loud as they tumbled through his mind. Inside his office he slid the door closed, drew the blinds, and poured himself a healthy measure of whiskey before taking a seat at his desk. For long moments he simply sat, staring at nothing, replaying the events of the last few hours on a loop in his mind.

 _I'm pregnant…my Harry…I miscarried last year…our baby…I've decided to resign…our baby…_

He wanted so badly to be angry with her. Ruth had known, for how long Harry still wasn't sure, and she had refused to tell him, had deliberately lied to him on at least two occasions, had cut him out of her life when he most wanted to be there. Ruth had rejected his proposal, had shattered his dreams for them, and had very nearly gotten herself – and the baby – killed today. The tally of her misdeeds made his blood boil, but when the moment came to confront her, he had been overcome by the desire to protect her, to hold her in his arms and whisper his love for her. How could he shout at her? What good could possibly come, from such a tirade? It might relieve some of his stress, temporarily, but it would only compound his troubles in the long run.

Those harsh words had been just on the tip of his tongue, all his hurt and all his fears carefully planned out in his mind in a speech that might have ripped the very heart from her, and might have ended any chance of something more between them. When she walked into the kitchen he had been preparing himself to launch into that diatribe, but then she had handed him the copy of the scan, had shown him his child for the first time, and the fight left him all at once. What was the point of shouting, when he was holding a picture of their baby between his trembling fingers?

This was not a possibility he had ever considered for them, not in once in all the years that he had known her, all the years that he had loved her. He was too old – much too old – to be starting a new family, and Ruth had seen too much heartbreak in her life already. They had both devoted themselves to this job, to this life of shadows, and there was no room for children in their world.

 _How could this happen?_ He asked himself, though he knew the answer already. This had happened because he had been careless, because he had been too lost in the wonder of her touch, the rapture of her trembling heat around him, because he had never once stopped to consider that she was not nearly as old or as broken as he. Harry had treasured the memory of the nights he had spent wrapped in the warmth of her embrace, had believed that those two weeks he'd spent lost inside her were the closest he would ever come to having her. He believed her, when she said _we've forfeited the chance for that sort of life_ , had accepted her declaration that they couldn't be more together. He thought that it was a case of _wouldn't,_ rather than _couldn't_ , thought that Ruth had decided there was no room for him in her life, off the Grid, and though he hated the thought, he had been loath to lose her completely. Surely having Ruth by his side at work, building their team and saving the world from behind the walls of Thames House was better than not having her at all, and so he gave in to her request that they remain simply colleagues, no matter how it rankled.

Now, though, he wasn't sure what they were, or what they would be.

Ruth wanted to leave him, wanted to leave the service, and he was terrified of losing her. If she did go, he would not be able to see her, to speak to her, would be banned from the hospital the day their child was born, would spend the rest of his life mourning the estrangement from yet another of his offspring. It didn't bear thinking about.

And yet, he understood all too well her desire to go. Once or twice a month Harry took Wes Carter to see the dogs, and spoke gently to the boy, encouraging him and offering stories about his parents whenever he asked. The stories were abridged, certainly; Wes was nowhere near old enough to learn the truth of who his parents had been, but he deserved to spend some time with a man who knew them well, and remembered them fondly. Harry carried the guilt for Adam and Fiona's loss like an anchor round his neck, and that guilt only increased with every moment he spent in the company of their sweet, orphaned son. Their deaths weighed heavy on his conscience, and he had spent many a sleepless night, berating himself as he pondered all the things he could have done differently, all the ways he could have saved them.

Ruth would never be truly safe, so long as she worked at Thames House, and Harry knew it. She was right, about Colin; Harry had assured the man, when he'd first brought him onto the team, that he would not be called upon for field work. And what had Harry done? Sent him into the field, and to his doom. Even the building itself was not safe; this most recent disaster with the Seva Gola had brought back memories of Angela Wells, and the day she very nearly blew them all to hell. True, Angela had not brought a working bomb with her, but she _could_ have, they _believed_ she had, and the threat had been very real. Harry could not guarantee that such a thing would never happen again.

And then there was the Cotterdam incident and everything that came after it; Ruth hadn't needed to be on the Grid, to be targeted, exposed as his weakness, her life ripped apart as Mace and his cronies sought to bring Harry to heel. Ruth had sacrificed her life for him, and when she finally thought she was safe, when she had finally built a new life for her far away from him and the horror he draped around himself like a cape, still she had been in danger. George's death cast a long shadow, and he couldn't help but wonder if she still blamed him for it, in some way. Oh, she would assure him that she understood the decision he had made, his refusal to give away the uranium, but there was no denying that the only reason George had been in that situation at all was Harry, Harry and his love for Ruth, Harry and his absolute reliance on her.

And George wasn't the only one she'd lost that horrible day, he realized. Oh, he didn't know the details, but he could add one and one to make two. If Ruth had miscarried last year, it stood to reason the child she'd lost had been George's. He grieved for her, for the loss of her family, understood now what she'd meant when he'd begged her to think of the children who would die, if he handed over the uranium, and she'd responded _I can only see mine in front of me._ He'd always found it odd, that she should claim the boy Nico in such a way, when she'd only known him for a little over a year, and had not even properly married George. Now, though, knowing that she'd been pregnant as she sat across from him in that room that had become their own private hell, he had to wonder if she hadn't been talking about Nico at all, but rather the child she carried. She'd known it wasn't just George and Nico in danger, she had to have understood that her life might well be forfeit too, in Mani's twisted plans; _Christ,_ how terrified must she have been?

Even when she'd run from him, even when she'd been living under a false name two thousand miles away, she had not been safe from harm. If she left him now, left the service and Thames House and even London, he feared she would be no safer. At least when she was by his side he felt he was in a position to protect her, to shield her from harm; if she was out of his sight, how could he possibly stop those who wished her ill because of him?

He gave his head a little shake as he downed the rest of his whiskey. There was no use, fighting those battles in his head before they'd even begun. Ruth had agreed to take some time to consider her options before she made a decision, and for now he must be content with that.

And, he reminded himself, she had asked him to come with her to her next appointment. The thought of watching a doctor stick a needle into the soft protrusion of her stomach, so close to their child, made him sick with worry, but Ruth seemed confident that the procedure would go well, and he had to trust her. No doubt she'd spent hours researching it already; knowing Ruth, she'd likely already consumed every piece of literature available on the subject, and made her decision carefully. In this, and likely many more matters still to come, he would have to defer to her judgment, no matter how it pained him.

Jane had complained about his absence, his inattention during her pregnancies, and if he were being honest, he had to admit that he had not been as supportive as he could have been at the time. He'd been too young, too frightened of the responsibility of fatherhood, too focused on his own ambitions to give her the sort of care she deserved. With Ruth, though, he was finding it hard to keep his distance. He didn't want to let her out of his sight, wanted to be by her side every moment, from now until…well, forever, he supposed. Was she getting enough to eat? He wondered. Ruth had always been bad about skipping meals. And sleeping, was she sleeping enough? Should he start sending someone else down to Registry to fetch her files, rather than making her slog there herself? Once the baby came, would she let him help her? Would she want his help?

 _Probably not,_ he thought, feeling rueful and affectionate towards her in almost equal measure. Ruth was not the sort of woman who accepted help easily, particularly not from him, particularly not now, after everything they'd gone through together. She bristled when he offered to drive her home; how cross would she be, if he offered to help with the baby?

This line of thought, of course, brought to mind images of Ruth with their child in her arms, and he smiled despite his anxiety. She would be a wonderful mother, he knew; in a way she already was, taking the junior officers and analysts under her wing, listening to their problems and offering them her sweet, steady guidance. Everyone on the Grid trusted her, revered her, would do anything to protect her; he'd received a dozen messages over the last few hours from people wanting to know if Ruth was all right, if he was all right, if they needed anything. He'd never tell her that, knew she'd hate it, but their concern warmed his heart. Their concern for him as well as for her also seemed to imply that their section understood how important she was to him, personally, and Ruth would hate that as well.

What would she do, now that they knew? Only their team had been on coms, there having not been time to kit up every officer they'd dispersed on the operation, but eventually the news would get out; she was already starting to show, and time would reveal their secret whether they chose to acknowledge it openly or not. Laughter over a single dinner date had sent her running from him before; how would she react to the gossip this time around?

The truth was he had no idea. The Ruth who had returned to him from Cyprus was not the same Ruth who had left him by the docks. She was more confident, now, more self-assured, and bold enough to ask him outright to join her for a drink. Maybe she wouldn't be so bloody frightened, this time. Maybe she would, for once, allow herself and her own selfish desires to take priority over the whisperings of people who did not, could not, understand what she and Harry had been through together, what they truly meant to one another.

It was in the midst of these ponderings about Ruth that Beth came to him, announcing her presence with a timid knock on his door. He ordered her to enter, and turned his gaze and attentions upon her. Beth was welcome addition to the team, he thought; she lacked Ros's utter ruthlessness, but she was cool and calculating, and had a keen sense of humor. He wasn't sure how well she would do, in the long run, but he knew that Ruth trusted her, and if Ruth trusted her, that was good enough for him.

"Harry," the girl said, meeting his gaze with pleading eyes, "I just wanted to say how sorry I am, about what happened today."

She looked rather small and rather sad, he thought, and it sounded to him as if she were apologizing for more than missing the link between Medea and the Whitfield clinic.

"Did you know, about Ruth?" he asked, using his best quiet-interrogator voice. He suspected he already knew the answer to that question; Beth and Ruth had lived together for two months now, and he couldn't imagine that Ruth had been able to keep her secret from the girl. He recalled Jane being mercilessly, rather noisily ill nearly every single day for the entirety of the first trimester, both times she was pregnant. He'd felt helpless then, as he did now, unable to fix it, unsure of what was expected of him. Had Beth felt the same? Had she knelt beside Ruth there in the confines of their bathroom, held her hair back and offered her comfort, the way Harry would have done, had he been there? If so, he was grateful to her.

To her credit, Beth did not try to lie to him. "I did," she answered.

"How long?"

She sighed. "You remember the night I called you round, when she couldn't stop crying?"

 _Christ._

That had been over a month ago. Ruth had refused to acknowledge what had passed between them that night as he held her, sitting on the floor of her bathroom, and Harry had pushed all thoughts of it from his mind. She had been completely incoherent, when he arrived, and by the time he left she was comatose, and she'd never offered any explanation. Harry had just been so grateful to be with her, so awed by the trust she placed him and so encouraged by her positive reaction to his presence that he had not pushed for details. At the time he had assumed it was just grief, all their losses hitting her all at once the way heartaches will do, waiting for a quiet night to steal up and drown her. To know that she had been weeping because she had discovered her pregnancy, because she was no doubt remembering the baby she'd lost, filled him with a profound sense of sorrow. She never should have had to endure that alone, never should have been forced to carry this burden without his help. In the future, he swore, he would be there for her, in whatever capacity she needed him.

"It wasn't my place to tell you, Harry," Beth said, defending herself in a soft voice.

"No, it wasn't," he agreed. "But you lied to me, didn't you? Richard Brewer."

She looked a bit sheepish, at the mention of the name. Harry had never believed for a moment that Beth and Ruth were really off to see an asset, those days they had disappeared. They'd filed all the right paperwork and submitted the correct reports, but Harry knew Ruth too well, and he had gotten the sense that she was not telling him everything, web she spoke about their asset.

"Ruth needed to go to the doctor, and she didn't want to answer any uncomfortable questions."

Harry grunted a bit, at that.

"And you? Where did you go, while she was at the doctor?"

"The first time, I went with her. She needed someone to be there. It should have been you, Harry, but she wasn't ready to tell you, and I…couldn't let her go alone."

Harry looked up sharply. _It should have been you_... _clever girl_ , he thought. So Beth had put it together. How long ago did she figure it out? He wondered. How long had she known that her flatmate had shagged the boss, and kept her silence? He was surprised, really; in an office full of spooks, people who spent their day ferreting out information, he supposed it couldn't have been easy keeping such a juicy tidbit to herself. And yet, she had.

"I appreciate your willingness to help her, and your discretion," he told her earnestly, and he watched her visibly sigh in relief. "However," he continued, "you must not get into the habit of lying to me, Miss Bailey. Ruth is a vital member of this team, but you must not forget who sits in this chair."

She nodded, looking suitably abashed, and Harry dismissed her, trying not to smile.

A quick glance at the clock made his heart sink in his chest; the day was running away with him, and there was still so very much for him to do. He would have to be quick about it; Ruth was coming round to his for dinner tonight, and he was determined not to keep her waiting. They still had so much to discuss.


	18. Chapter 18

When the paperwork was finally complete and the investigation into Medea and A Better Choice could finally be laid to rest, Beth did not feel relieved. She took the tube home, numbly going through the motions of her evening commute, her mind a million miles away. Harry had been much more understanding of her mistakes than she'd anticipated; for that matter, so had Lucas. No one seemed to blame Beth for almost getting Ruth killed, except for Beth herself. She kept replaying the moment Ruth had revealed her pregnancy over and over in her mind; the look on Ruth's face, the way Harry had taken the news, losing control of himself for just an instant, for just long enough for Beth to understand how deeply Ruth's confession had shaken him, to see just how much she had risked today.

It wasn't wise to make friends in this profession, Beth knew. She was the youngest member of the team, but she had already lost her fair share of comrades in arms. Most of them had been private contractors, mercenaries like her, but she had seen men and women die, some she'd cared about, some she'd barely known, and it had left its mark on her. She had thought she was jaded enough now, thought she had reached the point in her career when she was beyond the need for friends. Allies were one thing. If you lost an ally, you could find another. The loss of a friend left a hole that could never truly be filled. That hole might shrink over time, as the passing of the years dulled the pain of grief, but it would never fully close, and that pain was a liability she couldn't afford. Beth hadn't counted on meeting Ruth, though, hadn't counted on sharing her life with this brilliant, broken woman, and she found herself terrified that she'd made a mistake, in befriending her. It was too late now, she knew; Beth was officially invested. If anything ever happened to Ruth, or to the peanut, she'd never forgive herself, and she'd never forget it.

Inside the flat, all was quiet, until Beth made her way down the hall and knocked on the door of Ruth's bedroom.

"Ruth?" she called, weary and uncertain.

"Come in!" Ruth answered.

Beth did just that, and what she saw brought her up short. Ruth was standing in front of her closet, wrapped in a bathrobe, with the entire contents of her wardrobe strewn across the room. This room was never particularly tidy; ordinarily books and papers and dirty laundry were scattered about in quiet testament to Ruth's general lack of fastidiousness. Beth had never seen it quite this disheveled before, though.

"It looks like a bomb went off in here," Beth said, and immediately began to kick herself for being so bloody callous. Ruth had very nearly been killed today, and bombs were no joking matter. Her flatmate didn't seem bothered by the statement, however. Ruth just turned around and gave her a sheepish sort of look.

"I can't find anything to wear," she explained.

Beth raised an incredulous eyebrow. There had to be dozens of skirts and dresses and blouses piled on the floor at Ruth's feet; surely somewhere in there was an article of clothing with a nice elastic waist, she thought.

"Well….I mean…" Ruth was actually blushing, now. "This fits," she kicked a grey dress near her feet, "but it makes my stomach look massive. And this," she nudged a long brown skirt, "fits, but I can't find a single shirt to wear with it that doesn't make me look like a nun."

"Are you going somewhere?" Beth asked, amused. Ruth had never given any indication that she minded looking like a nun, in the past. Dark colors, long skirts, tall boots, tights, sweaters, scarves; if they had only seen each other at work, Beth was fairly certain she never would have seen an inch of Ruth's skin beyond her face and hands.

Ruth was actually blushing harder now, if such a thing were possible.

"I have plans, for dinner," she said in a little voice, refusing to meet Beth's gaze, and instead staring intently at the floor while her hands fiddled with the tie of her robe.

That could only mean one thing as far as Beth was concerned: Harry. It was actually kind of sweet, the way Ruth was fretting about what to wear, as if she didn't see him every day, as if he hadn't already seen her naked – _oh God, Bailey, don't go there, abort, abort –_ and Beth wished them all the best, she really did. From where she was standing, it was plain that they cared about one another, and perhaps the disaster they'd only barely avoided this morning was the kick in the rear they both needed, to get their act together and finally do something about it.

"What about this?" she suggested, crossing the room to pull a dark navy skirt out of the pile. Ruth liked navy, she'd found; half her clothes were navy or black.

"But-" Ruth started to protest, but Beth was on a roll.

"And this," she scooped up a white vest, tossed it to Ruth, and kept digging, "and this." She emerged from the clothes pile clutching a soft lavender wrap-style blouse. The wrap around her waist would hide her stomach, and the low cut of the blouse would show some skin, but the vest would keep her from falling out of it entirely. Beth was rather proud of her efforts, actually.

For a moment Ruth looked as if she were going to protest, but then she seemed to think better of it.

"I'm being a bit silly, aren't I?" she asked wryly.

"No, not all," Beth lied with a smile. "Now go on, get dressed."

* * *

At a quarter to seven, Harry knocked on the door to their little flat. Ruth had finally located her sense of calm, with a great deal of assistance from an oddly enthusiastic Beth. She'd managed to dress herself, fix her hair, and even took the time to apply a little make up. _This isn't a date_ , she told herself firmly. The very idea of going on a date with Harry seemed a little ridiculous, at this point. After everything they'd been through together, everything they'd done for one another, with one another, "dating" seemed too frivolous an activity for them to engage in. Besides, Ruth wasn't sure she was ready to solidify their relationship in that way; it had only been a few hours, since she'd told Harry about the baby in the most horrible way imaginable, and it had only been a few months since she'd told him they had forfeited the chance to make a life together. This wasn't a date, this was an operational briefing.

So why did she feel so bloody nervous?

"I'll be back later," she called to Beth. The girl hadn't come right out and said it, but once Ruth told her Harry was on his way, her flatmate had rather suddenly found something very interesting to do in her bedroom, and was currently refusing to come out. It must have been slightly awkward for her, Ruth supposed, knowing that their boss was coming round to pick her up for dinner, but things were only going to get stranger from here.

"Hi," Ruth said a bit breathlessly as she swung the door open to find Harry stood on the other side with his hands in his pockets. He'd come straight from the Grid, his suit a bit rumpled from the stress of the day and his dear face lined with exhaustion. Harry had not had the benefit of a nice warm bath and a nap after the Medea incident, like Ruth had, and her heart went out to him.

"Hi," he answered, giving her a little smile. "Ready to go?"

She nodded, and he stepped aside to let her pass. Once she was through the door she turned around to lock it, and found herself sudden very close to him, close enough to smell his cologne, close enough to let her mind wander to places it really shouldn't be going, this early in the night. She fumbled with the keys, muttering quietly to herself, and beside her Harry only barely managed to suppress a chuckle. With the door locked, they turned to walk towards his car together, and Harry placed a broad, strong hand on the small of her back to guide her as they went. Part of her bristled, at this sudden display of chivalry; she was still capable of walking on her own unaided, thank you very much. There was a larger part of her that warmed at his touch, not that it took much these days to get her overheated. It seemed she was always hot, always on the verge of rushing to the loo, and always bloody exhausted. She hadn't really been prepared for just how much this was going to affect her; morning sickness, she expected. Everything else had just been adding insult to injury.

Harry walked her around to the passenger's side of the car, keeping his hand on her back and leaning around to open the door for her. His movements brought him so close to her that she suddenly found it hard to breathe; part of her wanted to kiss him, and part of her wanted to run away screaming. _I can't do this, I can't, what does he want from me, what does he expect?_

The drive from her flat to his home was not quite as awkward as she expected it to be. Sure, she wrung her hands together in her lap and he stole furtive glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking, but they also chatted quietly, mostly about work. How the clean up from the Medea debacle was going, how Dimitri and Beth were getting on, whether they needed to hire another analyst. By the time they reached Harry's, Ruth was almost feeling at ease with him.

Almost, but not quite, because there were still so many questions left unanswered. What did Harry want for them, for their relationship, now that they were going to have a baby? Was he going to insist on their trying for something more, for the peanut's sake? From the moment she'd first discovered she was pregnant, Ruth had been dreading that more anything, dreading the thought of their becoming one of those horrible, passionless couples who only stayed together for the sake of their child. Pity and guilt were not substitutes for love.

Besides, she and Harry had already tried their hand at being a proper couple, and they had failed spectacularly. He had been so typically _Harry,_ rushing headlong into a proposal before they'd even decided what they were to each other, before Ruth had even had a chance to catch her breath and adjust herself to their circumstances. And, to be fair, she had responded in a typically Ruth fashion, bolting at the first sign of commitment. George was her longest relationship to date, topping out at just over a year, and that had ended in a torrent of blood and horror. Relying on people had never really worked out for Ruth, in the past; all her deepest, most formative relationships, with friends, with lovers, with her father, they had all ended in grief and pain, and she wasn't prepared to open herself up to that kind of heartache again. She couldn't bear it, if she and Harry should truly fall out with one another, if she truly lost him, for good and all.

But surely, if he meant so much to her, that was an indication that they _ought_ to be together?

She was just so bloody confused, so damned uncertain, and it seemed like no matter what she chose, she would only end up hurt and alone. Again.

After a blissfully short drive, they arrived at his home, and he ushered her inside. It had been months, since the last time she'd entered Harry's house, but she found it largely unchanged. There was his ancient little dog Scarlet, limping over on arthritic hips to wag her tail enthusiastically at them in greeting. There was his sitting room, and the sofa on which they had engaged in more than one very serious snog. There were the photos of Graham and Catherine as children, in matching silver frames, given pride of place on the mantel above his fireplace. Would a third photo join them one day? she wondered. A photo of a third blonde child, with his father's pouty lips and his mother's blue eyes? The very thought brought a slight sheen of tears to her eyes, and she rubbed them furiously, chiding herself all the while and hoping Harry couldn't see. Everything made her cry these days, it seemed.

"Would you like something to drink?" Harry asked her as they made their way into the kitchen. "Not wine, obviously," he added quickly, throwing her a sheepish little grin.

"Water would be fine, thank you," Ruth answered. Her voice didn't waver even a little bit, and she was absurdly proud of herself for managing to disguise the welter of emotions currently coursing through her.

He dutifully poured her a glass of water, and when he handed it over, she was careful not to let her fingertips touch his. It wouldn't do, to push herself too close to him tonight. He'd said _we still have a lot of ground to cover,_ and she wanted to get through this conversation, get through this meal, with her mind clear and her thoughts unclouded by the memory of his hands ghosting over her skin. She wanted to get through this without confusing him, without making him think she was offering more than she was prepared to give.

"Can I help?" she asked, watching him pull various items from his pantry and refrigerator, shuffling around the kitchen still dressed in his jacket and tie.

"You can help by telling me what you're thinking, about how we're going to handle this," he said, not looking at her as he set a pot of water to boil.

Ruth sighed, and lowered herself into a chair at his kitchen table. She sat quietly for a time, running her fingertips along the smooth grain of the wooden tabletop, trying not to remember the first time she had eaten a meal in this room.

" _You really don't have to cook me breakfast, Ruth," he said, trying and failing miserably to hide the smile that danced around the corners of his eyes._

" _I want to," she insisted, catching her lip between her teeth as she fretted about whether or not she was being too pushy. It was their first day off since the bombing, and the sixth morning she'd woken up in Harry's bed. For the first time, they had the leisure to eat breakfast together, to spend a whole, blessed morning in one another's company, and she very much wanted to do something nice for him. She just prayed she wouldn't burn the bacon._

 _He was sitting at the table in nothing but his trunks and a bathrobe, casting curious little glances at her over his newspaper while she fumbled around, wearing nothing but the white shirt she'd peeled off him the night before, incredibly wrinkled and smelling delightfully of him. For the first time in a long time, Ruth was happy._

"Ruth?" he asked, turning and shooting her a worried glance over his shoulder. She realized then that he'd spoken, and she hadn't heard a word of it.

"I'm sorry, I was miles away."

"I was asking, are you comfortable with telling the team? About the baby, I mean."

 _Am I comfortable? No. Do I have a choice? Also no._

"I don't think there's another option, Harry. They were all listening today. They're not stupid, they'll know I didn't just pull your name out at random. And besides, even if I didn't tell them, they're bound to figure it out eventually. In a few months I'll be big as a house, and they all think we've been sleeping together for years anyway."

Her forthrightness had surprised him, she saw. Even from this angle, with his back turned towards her as he messed about with the pasta, she could see the way his shoulders tensed, the way his hands paused for a moment in their work while he considered her words, and his possible response. Harry knew how she felt, about exposing her personal life to public scrutiny. He knew very well indeed, even if he didn't entirely understand it.

She'd never been able to abide gossip, ever since she was small and her mother had shipped her off to boarding school. She'd always been a strange child, never quite fitting in with her peers, and when you lived in close quarters with your classmates, there was no escaping their ridicule. She had so badly wanted to make friends, wanted to have someone to share her thoughts and her hopes with, but the other girls had never really accepted her. As she grew up, she found that people always underestimated her, because of her size, because of her odd clothes and her tendency to ramble on when she got excited, and she'd had to fight twice as hard to gain the same amount of respect her colleagues received as a matter of course. She treasured that respect, was proud of her accomplishments, and she never wanted her personal life to overshadow her professional capabilities.

As things stood now, though, she didn't really have another choice. People would talk, whether Ruth came clean about the pregnancy or not; she might as well get the truth out there, now, before the gossip took on a life of its own.

"I know that you're uncomfortable with the idea of people finding out about us, Ruth," Harry said carefully, "and I don't think we need to run an announcement in the paper, but I would like to have a very short conversation with our team. I would like to impress upon them that this is a private matter, and I would like to ask for their discretion, should anyone else try to bring it up round the water cooler."

Ruth nodded. "I think that's a good idea."

"Well, that's that settled," he said.

Silence fell between them, as Ruth wondered how that conversation was going to go. It seemed to her that Harry wanted to say something else, but was biding his time, uncertain of how she would respond. He was being cautious with her, and she hated herself for making him feel as if he couldn't speak freely around her. And that was her fault, she knew; Ruth had run from him so many times, in the past, that he must surely be counting the seconds, waiting for her to do it again. There was nowhere for her to go now, though. If she did run, it would not make the slightest bit of difference, because wherever Ruth went, the peanut would follow. She would have to face this, have to face him, no matter how frightened she was.

"Beth already knows," Harry had said carefully. "I think she's known from the beginning."

"What makes you say that?" Ruth asked sharply, her heart rate doubling as she tried to recall whether she'd ever discussed the matter of the baby's father with Beth. As she scrolled through her memories in her mind, she realized that Beth had never once asked, and wasn't that odd? She was such a curious girl, always nosing about, trying to get to the bottom of whatever question held her attention at any given moment; surely she must have wondered. Unless Harry was right, and she'd known from the start.

"Well, she did call me to come round that night," Harry said.

Ruth dropped her glass, swearing as water flooded the tabletop. _It wasn't a dream,_ she thought, mortified. _It wasn't a dream, it was real, Harry was there, oh, God, what did I say?_

In an instant Harry was by her side, dishtowel in hand as he mopped up the water and assured her everything was all right while her heart pounded frantically in her chest and she stood by unable to help him as her hands had started to shake uncontrollably. _Why the bloody hell did she call him? What did she tell him? Oh, God, Beth, what did you do?_

Harry seemed to read the shock on her face. He stood beside her, clutching the sopping dishtowel in his hands, looking rather lost. "She didn't tell me, Ruth," he assured her quietly. "That is, she told me today, when I asked her how long she'd known, but she didn't tell me that night. She rang me, because she was worried about you, and she thought you needed a friend."

"I did," Ruth replied in a quiet voice.

"I'm glad she rang me," he told her. His voice had taken on that low, soft tone it sometimes did when his guard was down and his emotion was high. It was a tone she knew well, as familiar to her as the look in his eyes, that warm, gentle look that spoke of love and longing and all the pain they'd inflicted on one another, over the years.

At the time, Ruth had thought it no more than a dream, a desperate little pining for the touch of his hand, but even that fantasy of him had been enough to comfort her. Now that she knew the truth, knew that he really had come to her, despite the harsh words she had spoken, despite the pain they'd caused one another, now that she knew he had cradled her in his arms and carried her to bed, her heart cried out for him in a way it had not done since the day of Ros's funeral. She wanted, so badly, to seek shelter in his arms, to feel as safe and warm and happy and loved as she'd felt that morning when he had rested beside her with his head in her lap and her heart in his hands.

"I thought it was a dream," she said, and her voice cracked on the word _dream._ The tears were coming now, and there was no stopping them.

Harry did not hesitate. He dropped the dishtowel on the table, and wrapped his arms around her, sturdy and strong and safe. She buried her face in his chest, and wept. Fear and hope and longing and love poured out of her as she cried; _God,_ but she had missed him, these last three months. She'd been so scared, so terribly lonely, so bereft, without him by her side. But he was here, now, holding her close, not shouting at her or blaming her, not cross with her for lying and very nearly getting herself blown up. He was holding her, letting her know without words that whatever happened next, they would face it, together.

For a time she simply stood, clinging to him fiercely, until her tears finally abated and she was left feeling vaguely embarrassed. Harry seemed to sense the change in her mood; he loosened his grip on her, just a bit, and leaned down to drop a gentle kiss on the top of her hair.

"It's going to be all right," he told her quietly. Ruth just nodded against his chest, took a deep breath, and stepped away from him.

* * *

 **More to come soon!**


	19. Chapter 19

"I'm sorry about…all that," Ruth said, running her fingers through her hair and trying to reestablish her sense of equilibrium. "It seems like everything makes me cry, these days."

"No need to apologize," Harry, said giving her a warm little smile before crossing the kitchen to turn his attentions back to their neglected pasta.

As he went back to cooking their dinner, Ruth was seized by a morbid sort of curiosity about Harry's previous experiences with pregnancy; had Jane gone all weepy over every little thing, too? Was he remembering those days, comparing Ruth to his ex-wife? That part of his life was a mystery to Ruth; in all their years together, he'd only spoken briefly about his family, and what little he'd said had only been revealed during the course of the investigation into the November Committee, so many years before. On the hunt for answers and telling herself that she needed as much information as possible about Catherine in order to successfully complete the op, Ruth had taken a little stroll through his confidential personnel file. It was the one and only time she'd ever done that, with any of her colleagues, and if she were being honest with herself, it wasn't just professional curiosity that compelled her. She was just beginning to feel the start of…something, between her and Harry in those days, and she desperately wanted to know the story behind his beautiful, sorrowful eyes.

So she'd looked him up, and looked up Jane and Catherine and Graham, too, for good measure. She saw the official reprimand in his file, regarding his liaison with Juliet Shaw, and felt her stomach churn with an emotion that felt uncomfortably like jealousy. And that was before she'd ever even met the woman; when Ruth first read Juliet's name in Harry's file, she never imagined that one day they'd be working closely with her, that Ruth would be forced to sit and watch the sparks flying back and forth between Harry and his former lover. When she returned from Cyprus, Ruth had been horrified to learn the extent of Juliet's treachery, but a very small part of her had felt relief, knowing that Harry would never be tempted to return to that woman's arms again.

As for Jane Townsend, very little information was available. Oh, the service kept tabs on her, monitored communication between Harry and his ex-wife, of which there was almost none. Ruth had been forced to paint her own picture of Jane's character, making all sorts of assumptions and then guiltily reminding herself that she did not, and might not ever, know what had really passed between them. Should she feel a certain kinship with Jane now? She wondered. Their children would have the same father; would their paths ever cross? For a moment she entertained herself imagining what it might be like to meet the woman for coffee, and laugh together about the man they shared in common, all his faults and all his glories. _No,_ Ruth thought, _she'd probably try to scratch my eyes out instead._

What she felt at this moment was not camaraderie, but rather the slight sting of jealousy. When she was pregnant, Jane had been blessed with a certainty about herself and Harry that Ruth lacked. They'd been properly married, had taken vows and decided to start on the journey of building a family together. Ruth had no idea what she and Harry were to each other, really; neither of them were capable of discussing their feelings, and there was a small part of her that hated Jane, for finding it so easy to lay to claim to his heart. Then it again, Jane might well be the reason he was so difficult to connect with emotionally. Either way, while Jane had struggled with the sickness and the hormones and the exhaustion and the heartburn that Ruth now found herself faced with, at least she'd been able to go to sleep next to Harry each night, able to comfort herself with the knowledge that her children would have a father, that she would have a hand to hold. Ruth envied her that certainty.

"You've gone all quiet on me again," Harry said from across the room, and Ruth cast about for something to say, not wanting him to know that she'd been too caught up hating his ex-wife to speak to him.

"Are you going to tell your children?" she said finally.

He gave her a look that said quite plainly that he thought her question was completely ridiculous.

"Ruth, we're going to have a baby. Do you really think that's the sort of thing I'd hide from them?" he asked quietly. She heard the question he'd really meant to ask her, lingering just below the surface; _what sort of man, what sort of father, do you take me for? Do you really think so little of me?_

"I meant more, _when_ were you planning to tell them," she amended contritely.

Harry took his time to answer; dimly she realized that while they'd been talking he hadn't just been cooking pasta, but he'd been making a nice tomato sauce as well. He'd chopped onions and mushrooms and sautéed them and set the whole thing to simmer on the stovetop, and the smell wafting over to her from his direction was absolutely heavenly. _Who knew Harry could cook?_

"Not for a while yet," he said finally, turning around and leaning back against the countertop to look at her while they spoke. "Catherine's back in Israel, just now, but she'll be home in a month or two, and I'll probably tell her then. I'll have to rely on her to get word to Graham, he's refusing to return my phone calls at the moment."

Ruth hung her head, feeling slightly ashamed for raising the subject of his strained relationship with his children. There had been some trouble with Catherine after she left, she'd learned, when she'd nearly gotten herself killed and Harry had to go in guns blazing to fetch her from a Hezbollah hospital. That thought almost made her smile; no matter how estranged from them he may be, Harry was still willing to drop everything, abandon the Grid, and fly halfway around the world if his children needed him. The peanut would be lucky in that regard, she thought. She could not have asked for a braver, more dedicated father for her child.

"How do you think they'll take it?" she asked timidly, fiddling with the hem of her blouse. She'd never pressed him for information about them before, his son and daughter and this chapter of his life that for so long had remained closed to her. She knew it pained him, that he wasn't closer to them, but she didn't know how he really felt, about the state of things between them, and she didn't know how his relationship with them might affect his feelings towards her and her baby. It wouldn't be fair, to say this was his second chance at having a family; he already _had_ a family, and they deserved their father as much as the peanut did.

"Oh, not well, I'd imagine. Catherine will be thirty this year, and Graham's not far behind her." _Oh Christ,_ Ruth thought, as the full implications of their age difference hit her square in the chest. Catherine was only about nine years younger than she; if the roles were reversed, and Ruth had been in Catherine's place, learning that her father was having a child with a woman young enough to be his daughter, she'd be livid. There was more to it than that, though; he was _fifty-six_ bloody years old. When the peanut went off to University he'd be _seventy-four; oh God, don't start crying again, Evershed, hold it together!_

"Ruth?" his voice was soft and gentle, and she clung to it like a life raft, dragging herself away from the sea of distress that threatened to drown her.

"Maybe they'll get used to it, in time," she said, not believing a word of it.

Harry just grunted, and turned his attention back to the sauce simmering behind him. "What about you?" he asked. "Have you told your mother?"

 _Oh, God, my mother._

Just as Harry had never spoken to her of his family, she had been tight-lipped when it came to her own. Harry hadn't needed to sneak around and hack through firewalls to peruse her personnel file; he'd read the whole bloody thing, cover-to-cover. He knew about her father, taken from her too soon, knew about the years she'd spent alone and miserable at boarding school, knew about her mother's remarriage and her disastrous relationship with her stepbrother. There was so much between the lines, though, so much heartbreak hiding beneath the obvious familial discontent, and Harry didn't know about _that_ , because she'd never told him.

Never told him, for instance, that she had yet to inform her mother that she was still alive.

While he waited for her to speak Harry plated up their supper, doling out two generous portions of pasta and smothering the lot with the sauce he'd made. He carried the plates the table, and set one down in front of Ruth, before going to fetch her another glass of water. When he was done shuffling around and came to sit across the table from her, Ruth kept her gaze determinedly focused on the food in front of her, rather than meeting his eye and risk revealing the truth she desperately wanted to keep from him.

Once again, though, she was reminded of just how well he knew her, how easily he could read each tiny flicker of emotion on her face.

"Ruth?" he asked kindly. "What aren't you telling me?"

She shook her head. "You'll think I'm horrible."

"Oh, I doubt that," he answered mildly. He was still looking at her, she could feel it.

"I haven't told my mother that I'm…back," she said. Her voice sounded small and brittle, even to her own ears.

Harry whistled. "Christ, Ruth," he said. "We couldn't tell her that you were still alive, even the service had to believe you'd…died. You mean to tell me she still thinks you're…" his voice trailed off, as if he couldn't bear to say the word _dead_ aloud. Not for the first time, Ruth wondered what Harry had gone through, during her time away. She knew how their separation had pained her, knew how she'd longed for him, how she'd dreamt of him, how the manner of her return had broken something deep inside her that might never truly heal; had he suffered the same?

"They'd already buried one child, David and my mother," Ruth started to explain. She really, _really_ didn't want to have this particular conversation with him, but she felt the need to come clean, to justify what must seem to him to be a callous, selfish act. "How could I just walk up to the front door, and tell them that _I_ was the one who came back, and not Peter? Can you imagine how devastated David would be? Mum gets her daughter back, but his son is still just as dead. I'd never be able to explain it to them, not properly, and I can't bear to think of how little they'd trust me, after something like that. And now, it's a million times worse, because I wouldn't just be telling them about me, I'd have to tell them about the peanut, too."

"The peanut?" Harry echoed, looking equal parts amused and exasperated.

"It's what Beth's been calling him, the baby," Ruth explained.

"The peanut," he said again, leaning back in his chair and smiling, just a little. "I like that," he added softly.

Ruth nodded, and took a long sip of her water, just to give herself something to do with her hands. Though dinner smelled wonderful, her stomach was roiling with doubt and guilt, and she didn't trust herself to eat anything, just now.

For quite some time neither of them said a word, as Harry digested her little diatribe and she fiddled with her glass. Did he think her heartless, for denying her mother the opportunity for a tearful reunion? Was he gearing himself up to give her some sort of speech, to make her feel guilty for not considering her mother's feelings?

"It's your decision, Ruth," he said finally, raising his fork and scooping up a pile of pasta. "But don't you think they deserve the chance to meet their grandchild?"

Ruth nodded glumly.

"I could go with you, if you like," Harry suggested, and she looked up at him sharply. "We wouldn't have to tell them that I'm the peanut's father, we could just tell them I'm your boss, and I could lend some credence to your story."

 _Dear, sweet Harry_ , she thought. How very like him, willing to allow himself to fade into the background, willing to deny himself the opportunity to claim their child as his own, if it meant things might go easier for her. And she knew now what a sacrifice that would be for him; she could easily read the pride in his face whenever he spoke about the baby.

"I'll think about it," she said. "I can't promise you more than that." For just an instant it looked like he might push her for more, but in the end he just nodded, and set about eating his supper. After a moment, Ruth followed suit.

* * *

Overall dinner had gone quite well, she thought. They did not speak about their family troubles again, and instead travelled to safer topics of discussion, like the fact that all around them the world itself seemed to be on fire. Ruth much preferred heated debates about the state of affairs in various Middle Eastern countries to indulging in navel-gazing and self-doubt. When they were both finished, Harry scooped up their plates and dropped them in the sink, assuring her he'd clean up later. At a loss for what to do next, Ruth was about to suggest she call a cab to take her home when Harry intercepted her, and suggested instead that they take their glasses (he was drinking water, too, she noticed with mild amusement) into the sitting room. He caught her off guard, and she felt she had no choice but to agree.

So it was she found herself curled against the arm of his plush sofa, while he sat comfortably in the chair across the coffee table from her.

"How have you been feeling?" he asked, bringing their conversation back around to the baby, and the reason Ruth had come here in the first place.

"Oh, not so bad," she lied.

"Ruth," he said in a tone of voice that told her he didn't believe her, even for a moment.

She laughed; she couldn't help it. How strange it was, to sit here in this room with him again, to spend time in his company and not feel the burden of guilt and grief that had consumed her since the day of Ros's funeral. Before she came here tonight, her imagination had run away with her, full of visions of frosty silence and harsh accusations. To her surprise, he had been warm and considerate, had not pushed the question of their relationship, had made her feel…welcome, and at peace, for once. She supposed they had the peanut to thank for that; faced with the reality of having someone other than themselves to worry about, they'd managed to put aside their own troubles, if only for one night.

"It really hasn't been that bad," she protested. "I'm not feeling as ill as I did, in the beginning. I learned quickly that I usually only got sick if I didn't eat. And yes, I do have terrible heartburn and everything makes me tired, but it's nothing I can't handle."

Harry nodded. "That's good. Promise me you'll tell me, if it gets bad? At work, I mean. I think you've earned a few days off here and there, if you need them."

And then he had to go and muck it all up, by reminding her that he was her boss, and shattering the fantasy of a happy family she'd started to build for them.

"I told you I don't want special treatment, Harry," she said warningly. She meant it, too; she couldn't bear it, if her ability to do her job came under question, couldn't bear the whispers and the knowing glances people would exchange behind her back.

He muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely like _mule_. It should have made her smile, to hear that word falling from his lips. Years ago, when she was freshly exiled and running for her life, she'd sent him a postcard and signed it _mule,_ wanting to remind him of their connection, of how much they shared, of the fact that she had never forgotten a single word he'd spoken to her. The reminder of that history, the use of that nickname (the only one she'd ever had, with the exception of Gary Hicks's infuriating insistence on referring to her as _Ruthie)_ should have come off playful and sweet, but instead it churned up memories she'd much prefer remained buried. Their history had made them, had bound them together, but it had torn them asunder, too, and she still hadn't found a way to unpick it all.

She'd run the gamut of emotions tonight, from anxiety to affection to fear to guilt and back again, and it left her feeling exhausted and out of sorts. If she was confused, trying to figure out what was going on inside her head, how much worse must it be for him, trying to predict the unpredictable? Perhaps she could blame it all on hormones, but that was only part of it, and he knew it as well as she. Ruth had always been confusing, and difficult to keep up with, in the emotions department, to herself as much as to Harry. _Poor love,_ she thought sadly. _He deserves better._

So for his sake, she tried to bury those more morose thoughts, and decided that it might be best if she made her escape now, while they were still on somewhat good terms with one another, before she put her foot right in it.

"I should probably be going home, Harry," she said, somewhat regretfully, rising from her seat on the couch and digging her knuckles into the small of her back where her muscles had grown tight and sore.

He took his cue from her, also rising, and if he was baffled by her sudden attempt to depart, he hid it well.

"I'll call you a cab," he said.

For the space of a heartbeat she was overcome by the memory of that night he'd shown up at her door, reeking of whiskey and sadness, and she recalled the barbed words she'd thrown at him in an attempt to protect her heart while he stood before her, laying his own bare. How could she have thought that he was not open enough for her? Everything he did screamed the truth of his feelings for her; perhaps she simply hadn't been listening.

Suddenly, she found she really didn't want to leave, after all.

Maybe Harry was remembering, too, because instead of reaching for his mobile, he took a step towards her, and then another, and then another, until he was close enough for her to reach out and touch him.

 _This is a bad idea,_ a little voice whispered in the back of her mind, but even as the thought occurred to her, she found her hand was reaching up, almost of its own accord, coming to rest on his broad chest, just above his heart.

 _Thump thump thump._ She could feel the beat of his heart, there under her palm, speeding up to match the pace of her own. There was a look in his eyes, a look she'd come to know well, during the fortnight she'd spent in his bed. That was the look he always gave her, just before he leaned in to kiss her.

She should have stepped away. Only a few hours ago they had been no more than colleagues to one another. Only a few hours ago, she'd been doggedly lying to him about the existence of their baby. Only a few hours ago, she'd very nearly died while he listened in, powerless to stop it. _That's adrenaline withdrawal,_ she thought.

 _Who cares?_

When he lowered his lips to hers, she did not stop him. She rose up on her toes to meet him, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck, drawing him as close to her as she could manage.

 _Oh, bugger._


	20. Chapter 20

It felt wonderful to be kissing Harry, to be sheltered within the circle of his arms again; it felt _right_. It felt like coming home.

He was firm while she was yielding, he was insistent while she was hesitant, he was safe while she felt like she was drowning. Harry had drawn her close, with one arm slung low around her hip and the other cradling her cheek, his tongue sliding between her lips to brush against her own while she sighed and melted all around him. While he kissed her the doubts slowly vanished, fading one by one beneath the weight of her growing need for him. Without a thought for the consequences she caught her fingers in the short curls at the nape of his neck and held him close to her, breathing him in and growing bolder with each passing second.

For long moments they stood thus entwined, their bodies pressed tight together with the peanut snuggled in between, her growing stomach brushing against his body with every small, subconscious move of their hips. It would be so easy to lose herself in him, to follow where this might well could lead. They'd found a rhythm together, back when she'd been brave enough to fall into his bed, and the small, intricate movements of that dance came back to her now, as natural as breathing. He'd slide his hand around her hips to the small of her back – _there he goes now –_ and linger there a moment before moving lower – _oh Christ, Harry_ – to knead the soft flesh of her bottom, drawing her hips close enough to feel his slowly hardening length – _this has to stop._

Regretfully she pulled out of the kiss, resting her forehead on his chest and trying to catch her breath. He tensed at her withdrawal, but wrapped his arms around her anyway, holding her close, as if to say _please don't leave me._

"What are we doing, Harry?" she whispered, unable to look him in the eye, knowing the hurt and the confusion she'd find there.

"I would have thought that was obvious, Ruth." His voice rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her cheek.

"You know what I meant," she admonished him. In her head, she knew she should step away from him, give herself some room, buy some time to think, but her heart would not let her leave the warmth of his embrace.

He sighed. "Ruth-"

"What do you want, Harry?" she interrupted him, leaning back slightly to finally catch a glimpse of his face. She drew her breath in sharply when she saw his eyes, dark and stormy, as the frustration he'd surely been feeling all day finally swam to the surface.

"I told you what I want," he said stubbornly. "I told you the day of Ros's funeral."

That did it. Ruth took a step back, and he dropped his arms from around her body, letting them fall to swing uselessly by his sides.

He _had_ told her what he wanted for them, and she knew it. Harry wanted everything, wanted to marry her, wanted to build a life together. And in that moment, she couldn't quite recall why that seemed like such a bad idea.

"I just need a little time," she told him. "This morning we were nothing to each other and-"

"We've never been _nothing_ to each other, Ruth," he said sadly. "Even when you were cross with me, even when I couldn't seem to speak for putting my foot in my mouth, even when you were…gone, this thing between us wasn't nothing. And you know it."

She nodded, bowing her head in an attempt to hide the sheen of tears that threatened to overcome her. Of course he was right; from the day she'd first walked onto the Grid Harry Pearce had held her in his thrall, and perhaps she'd held him, too. They'd orbited each other, two bright burning stars falling into one another's gravity, desperately fighting the inevitable conflagration that would consume them when they finally collided. _Inevitable_ , that's what they were, what they always had been.

"We don't have to make a decision about this, Ruth," he continued, his voice soft and earnest, his eyes faintly pleading. "We don't have to put a name to what we are to each other, and bugger what anyone else thinks. If you want to be here, then be here. If you want to go, then leave. We can make up the rest as we go along."

 _Let it all just crinkle out,_ Ruth thought, and she nearly laughed aloud at the very idea. Telling her not to classify something was akin to telling her not to breathe; everything had a category in her mind, books, intel, relationships. Every little thing had to be neatly identified and filed away, or else she'd never get to sleep at night. And now he was telling her not to define this _thing_ between them, this thing that rested heavy and unknowable at the center of her heart. How could he be so blasé about it? Vaguely she was aware that he was trying to keep her calm, trying to assure her that there was no pressure for them to be or do anything she wasn't ready for, but she needed to _know_ , and she _didn't_ , and it _hurt._

"It's been a very long day," she said finally, and she saw the fight go out of him all at once. She supposed Harry was used to these sorts of tactical retreats from her by now. It seemed like she'd spent the better part of the last decade drawing closer to him, only to step away when their need for one another became too much to bear. One of these days, he might not be there when she made to move toward him, and that thought left her shaken and unsteady.

"I just need to rest," she continued, her throat nearly choked with unshed tears.

"Of course," he said softly. He drew his mobile from his pocket, and called her a cab.

* * *

Beth was a bit surprised, when Ruth came shuffling through the front door of their little flat. It was after eleven, and she'd assumed that Ruth was out for the night. And why shouldn't she be? She'd left in a nice outfit to have dinner with the father of her child, a man she clearly adored, who clearly felt the same way about her. In truth, Beth had been quietly cheering them on while she frittered away the time sat on the sofa, drinking her wine and watching the telly.

Her flatmate was obviously in no mood to talk; Ruth didn't even offer her so much as a _good night_ before she trooped down the hall and into her bedroom. From where Beth was sitting, it rather looked like Ruth had been sulking as she went.

At the sound of Ruth's bedroom door closing Beth sighed and took a long sip of her wine. She was beginning to suspect that Ruth Evershed was one mystery she'd never be able to untangle.

* * *

The next morning they were all settled in the meeting room, Beth and Dimitri and Lucas and Tariq, just waiting for Harry and Ruth to join them. Ruth had reverted to type, and left for the office before Beth's alarm had even gone off, and she was at this very moment closeted inside Harry's office with the man himself, having some sort of private discussion before the morning meeting.

The atmosphere inside the meeting room was tense, to say the least. Beth knew that each of the boys must have their suspicions, about what they'd overheard the day before, but they were all hesitant to speak, none of them willing to be the first to begin openly speculating about the state of relations between their boss and their senior analyst.

In the beginning, Ruth had warned her about office gossip, and while Beth had heard her fair share of whisperings over the last few weeks, none of it had come from the three men sitting around the table with her. The other analysts and junior field agents were always keen to natter on at her, using information as currency to prove their own importance. One analyst had assured her that Ruth and Harry had been secretly married for years, while another was just as certain that Ruth was guilty of the treason that had forced her into exile, and Harry had covered it up in order to bring her back to the Grid. She'd learned that Lucas had been at Thames House, the day of Ruth's dramatic return, and that Tariq had joined the team not long after. They'd worked with her for a year before Dimitri and Beth came on board, and though they likely knew more of the details surrounding her departure and subsequent return than any of the blabbering analysts she'd spoken to, neither of them had offered a word of explanation. They treated Ruth gently, the pair of them; Lucas always spoke to her in a soft voice and Tariq always rushed to do whatever she asked of him, double time. Dimitri flirted with her a little, but there was nothing special about that; Dimitri flirted with everyone.

It was just so damned _frustrating_ , knowing half the story, and wondering about the rest. What had happened to Ruth's mysterious husband? Was that what made Harry and Ruth so hesitant to just _be_ with one another? Why was no one bloody talking?

Before the silence had a chance to entirely overwhelm her, Harry and Ruth came marching into the meeting room, side-by-side and equally stony-faced. When Beth and the boys had entered, they'd left the usual spots open for their fearless leaders, and the pair of them took their seats, Harry at the head of the table, Ruth at his right hand.

"Right," Harry said, taking a deep breath and glowering around at all of them. "You all were listening in coms yesterday, so we're not going to waste anyone's time by pretending that you didn't hear…what you heard." He had started out strong but he faltered quickly, casting a little sideways glance at Ruth as if to make sure she was all right. For her part, Ruth was just staring at the table, refusing to acknowledge anyone.

 _This is bloody torture,_ Beth thought, clasping her hands tightly together in her lap to keep from throwing them up in the air in frustration.

"Yes, Ruth is pregnant, and yes, I'm the father."

Dimitri made a startled little sound that he quickly covered by pretending to cough. Tariq's eyes darted back and forth between Harry and Ruth in confusion. Lucas leaned forward slightly in his chair, but he did not speak.

 _Well, that's that, then,_ Beth thought grimly.

"I imagine it won't take long for this news to travel. The tapes from yesterday's confrontation are a matter of record now. I would like to ask that you exercise some restraint, and that you encourage others to do the same. This is a very personal matter, and frankly, it's no one's business but ours."

Not for the first time, Harry reminded Beth rather uncannily of her own father. Brooding and stern, demanding excellence as well as obedience. He was glaring around the table at them, as if daring them to say something insolent about his declaration.

"Well, then, I suppose congratulations are in order," Lucas said, his face unreadable.

"Yeah, congratulations," Dimitri echoed him sincerely.

"Congratulations," Tariq said faintly.

Beth didn't say anything at all; she really didn't feel the need to. Ruth already knew that Beth would be there for her, in whatever capacity she needed.

Harry seemed relieved by their response, and for a moment, he very nearly smiled.

"Right then," he said gruffly, obviously trying to hide how pleased he was. "To business. Lucas, what's next on the agenda?"


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: This chapter follows episode 9.4. It's a bit longer than previous chapters, and jumps around a bit, but I hope you all enjoy it just the same.**

* * *

The days passed, one right after the other, much faster than Ruth would have liked. The world spun on, oblivious to the doubt that threatened to drown her. She still didn't know what she wanted from Harry, still didn't know what she was going to do, once the baby came, still didn't know how they were going to make this work, after she left the service. That she would leave was a foregone conclusion; it was the only certainty in her life, and she clung to it. She had made a promise to the peanut, and she had no intention of breaking it.

* * *

Near the beginning of the fourth month of her pregnancy, Ruth cornered Harry in his office before the morning meeting. The Chinese were on the agenda for the day, but there was something she very much needed to discuss with Harry, before they started in on work. They had not seen one another outside of the Grid since the night of their strange dinner; she wasn't entirely sure what she wanted to say to him, and for his part he seemed to be, not avoiding her exactly, but not seeking her out, either. A strange new tension had sprung up between them, motivated not by anger and hurt feelings but by doubt and confusion, and Ruth had no idea how to handle it. She had offered Harry an invitation, however, and she wasn't about to withdraw it.

"Harry," she said as she slipped through his office door.

He looked up at her, the corner of his mouth ticked up as if he were slightly amused, and she could almost hear the playful admonishment that died on his lips, something about how knocking was the done thing, but he never quite got there. Instead his almost-smile faded, and he answered her in a soft voice, saying only, "Ruth."

"I've got that appointment coming up soon, for the amnio. I was wondering-"

"I'm still planning to attend, Ruth," he said quickly. "Unless," he added, looking slightly crestfallen, "You'd prefer I didn't."

"No, no, I want…would like for you to be there, if you can. If you're available."

She cast her gaze down to the floor, feeling suddenly awkward and shy. Ruth had thought that, given enough time, she might grow used to the idea of her and Harry sharing this burden, but it still made her uncomfortable, this opening up to him. It left her feeling vulnerable and uncertain, weak, almost. She wanted him there with her, desperately, but she knew she had confused him, wounded him, and she wasn't sure if they'd ever find a way to just _be_ with one another, without all this hidden frustration and doubt.

"I'll make sure I am," Harry answered in a firm voice.

* * *

"First in for the meeting. Someone's trying to impress," Dimitri told her in a playful tone as he came to sit beside her. Beth was scribbling a few last minute notes as she waited for the rest of the team to join her, and she offered Dimitri a little smile in return. He was such a _nice_ lad, with such a soft heart and a gentle, flirtatious manner that had always made Beth feel comfortable around him.

"I could do with a bit of impressing," Beth answered. It had been just under a month, since the Medea op, and though she was slowly regaining her confidence, she still keenly felt the need to prove herself. She could do this job, she knew she could, and Beth was determined that the work she'd been doing with Kai would be proof of her capabilities. Given enough time she was certain that he could be turned, and when that happened, her asset was going to prove invaluable. Before that happened, though, she needed to convince Harry that she was ready.

The meeting started, Harry and the rest shuffling in and taking their seats around her, and they set to work, discussing the arrival of a Chinese hit squad. The CSS operatives were only planning a short stay; apparently, they were booked to leave in three days time.

 _Three days._ For a moment Beth pondered this time frame; it seemed like something important was supposed to happen in three days, but what the bloody hell was it? She shuffled through her diary in her mind, trying to pinpoint it, and realized with a start that Ruth's amniocentesis was scheduled for Friday. They'd be cutting it close, then, to try to get this wrapped up and get Ruth off the Grid in time for her appointment. For a moment she entertained herself wondering whether Ruth had told Harry. Beth hoped she had done; it was a big day, and he deserved to be there.

All thoughts of Ruth and Harry and the peanut fled as the meeting continued. It seemed Beth was going to get her wish; they needed a Chinese asset, and fast, and Beth knew just the man for the job.

"Chinese assets are notoriously hard to turn," Ruth reminded her gently. Was it a warning or a reprimand? Beth wasn't entirely sure, but she responded quickly anyway, telling them all the she thought she was ready.

"You think, or you know?" Harry asked.

"I can turn him," Beth answered with all the confidence she could muster. She knew she could. She had no other choice.

* * *

Once again, things were moving much too quickly for Ruth's liking. Kai had spooked, Dimitri had only narrowly escaped capture in the Chinese embassy and Lucas had spent the night in a cell under a false name, waiting for daylight and his freedom. It wasn't the most auspicious start to an operation, but they didn't have time for recrimination or reflection. They only had two days left now to piece this all together, but thanks to the almost-disastrous break-in at the embassy, they had the information they needed.

Ruth began to explain what she'd discovered after translating the documents, but before she got very far, Dimitri interrupted her, apparently impressed that she spoke Chinese. Once again she had to remind herself that the young man hadn't been on the Grid very long, and the list of things he didn't know was still impossibly long. She soldiered on, prepared to explain the significance of the Amphitrite technology, but she stopped short when she found herself faced with a wall of blank faces. Apparently no one else at the table had ever heard of Amphitrite, in any context.

"Poseidon's wife. Goddess of the seas," she explained. For a moment she was tempted to launch into the entire backstory of Amphitrite and the various disparities in the fragmented myths that survived to tell her tale; in some cases she was fully personified, honored above her husband even, while in others (like Ruth's dearly beloved Ovid) she was no more than a symbol, her power reduced to that of metaphor. Now might not have been the right time for such a discussion, however, so she tempered her enthusiasm and settled for an explanation of the desalination program in stead.

Harry didn't seem terribly impressed.

"Water filtration tech? Would the Chinese really send in a top assassination team just for that?"

Ruth fought the urge to sigh. For a man who had spent his life chasing intelligence, Harry could on occasion be remarkably thick when it came to the issues that really mattered. She bristled a bit at his casual dismissal of her findings, feeling herself growing rather cross with him, even if he did look particularly nice today with his red tie and his soft hair gone shaggy where it curled around his collar. She fought the urge to reach out and run her fingers through those curls, choosing instead to draw up an image of the global drought map, and teach Harry a little something about the importance of desalination technology.

She relayed the information about QMK Technologies, and just like that, they were off and running.

Or she thought they were; it wasn't very long before bad news landed at her doorstep. Harry's phone call to QMK had been less than illuminating, and Tariq assured them that there was no way to get at the company's data, with access to an internal computer. They needed someone on the inside, someone who could pose as a contractor, and access a terminal. She assumed it would be Beth; the girl was eager to prove her worth, and Ruth was eager to give her a chance.

Tariq delivered the death knell to that particular hope, however. There was only one possible point of entry; a translator named Kendra Scott, who spoke French, German, Arabic, and Mandarin.

Ruth felt four pairs of eyes turn to her all at once.

 _Not again,_ she thought, her hand drifting down to rest protectively against the soft swell of her stomach. _Please, not again._

* * *

"It will be perfectly safe," Ruth said quietly. They were once more ensconced in his office, quietly discussing the operation and quietly fighting about whether or not Ruth would go out into the field again. Harry was adamant that she stay behind; Ruth knew she needed to go. "This won't be anything like the Medea fiasco, Harry," she assured him. "I'll be on a stage, in front of people. I'll do a bit of translating, and I'll sneak back to the terminals during break. It'll be over before you know it, and no one the wiser. There's no real threat here."

"There's always a threat," Harry fired back.

In a way he was right; nothing was ever guaranteed. But as far as field operations went, this one was shaping up to be completely benign, and Ruth was certain she could pull it off.

"You'll be with me every step of the way," she told him. "You'll see. There's nothing to worry about."

"I always worry about you, Ruth," he said softly.

* * *

Ruth did her part, standing almost invisible beside the visiting Chinese scientist, delivering his words carefully and correctly and trying not to draw too much attention to herself. He was a nice enough man, and complimented her on her accent, which Ruth thought was a rather kind gesture. Beth was positioned in front of the building, Lucas and Dimitri were in a van not far away, and Harry and Tariq were on the Grid, keeping an eye on the lot of them. Overall, Ruth was confident this assignment would go off without a hitch. Her translating skills were up to scratch, and it would only take a moment to give Tariq access to the company's terminals.

 _In and out,_ she told herself. _Simple as that._

Around lunchtime they took a quick break, and Ruth made her move.

"This is Gazelle, I'm on the move," she said quietly as she hustled up the stairs. Tariq had gone over the layout of the building with her late yesterday evening, and she knew exactly where she was going.

"You haven't got long," Tariq reminded her, as if she'd forgotten.

"You try remembering the Mandarin for quark," she shot back. She could almost picture Harry's little smile as she spoke. It comforted her, knowing he was there with her as she worked.

Though she encountered an unexpected security guard and an equally unexpected locked door, Ruth quickly went to plan B. Faking hypoglycemia was easy enough; just a spritz of water on her face, to make it look like she was sweating, and a bit of perfume to make her eyes red and watery, and the rest was all down to acting. She'd always been a good actress, when the moment called for it. As she slipped past the guard, she grabbed a lab coat and a pair of safety glasses and instantly faded into the background. For a moment she wondered if Harry was proud of her, of the spook she had become. Seven years ago, she would have been completely stymied by the presence of the guard, but today he had barely slowed her down. She tried not to smile as she rushed towards an empty terminal.

* * *

 _Oh, shit,_ Beth thought. _Not again._

"Alpha Two to all units," she said urgently, "I've just received a report from our asset- the Chinese have a bomb planted inside QMK. They could detonate at any time."

Her heart had turned to lead in her chest, heavy and unbearable. She'd done it again. For the second time in a month, Ruth was in danger, and for the second time, Beth couldn't help but feel it was her fault. Why hadn't she got this information sooner? Why hadn't she protested more, when she learned that Ruth would be going in?

"Gazelle, get out of there immediately," Harry barked, the fear he felt for her palpable in his voice. They all knew what was at risk here, not just a member of the team but the mother of Harry's child, and Beth knew that Lucas and Dimitri felt the need to get Ruth out of there safely just as strongly she did.

"I'm in," Ruth answered in a steady voice.

"It's moot. Leave immediately," Harry ordered sharply. He wasn't messing about today, but Ruth was holding her ground.

Inside the building the evacuation had begun, but Ruth wasn't finished yet. "Ok home, you need to hear this," she said, before relaying the information about Amphitrite back to Harry. Amphitrite wasn't a code name for the technology, but for its creator, a woman who was currently being held somewhere in the building.

 _Who bloody cares Ruth? Just get out, get out now, please,_ Beth thought miserably. This was an intolerable position. The bomb could go at any moment, and Beth couldn't bear the thought of what would happen if Ruth was trapped inside the building when it did.

"Gazelle, find that scientist fast and get both of you out of there safely," Harry answered.

How could he be ok with this? Beth wondered. How could he possibly find it in himself to give that kind of order, knowing what it might cost him? She rushed inside the building to help with the evacuation, silently praying that they'd all make it through this in one piece.

* * *

Ruth rushed down the corridors, desperate to reach her goal and get the hell out of this death trap. _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry_ she told the peanut over and over as she went. This was exactly the sort of situation she should be trying to avoid, and yet she had lobbied for this job. She had begged Harry for it. What the _hell_ had she been thinking?

With a great sigh of relief she found the door she was looking for, and began knocking, desperate to find Amphitrite and get the hell out. Before she could, strong hands grabbed her from behind, and pulled her away.

* * *

Ruth let out a little gasp, and Harry felt all the air vanish from his lungs. He absolutely bloody _hated_ this, hated being stuck here on the Grid with Tariq, unable to do anything more than listen as Ruth was dragged back down the corridor. Whatever they were to each other, it was his job to protect her, and he couldn't help feeling that he had failed her. Again.

He heard the smack of flesh hitting something solid, and had a sudden vision of Ruth being thrown to the floor; his stomach clenched with rage, but he kept his mouth shut, listening intently.

"Who are you?" It was a man's voice asking. A man with an American accent.

"What are you doing? Would you please stop pointing that gun at me?" Ruth asked.

 _Gun? Someone's pointing a gun at her?_ Harry desperately wished he were with her; he'd kill this American himself, for daring to direct a weapon at her.

There was no time for histrionics, though. They had a job to do, and Ruth needed his help.

He talked her through it, keeping his voice steady, hoping it comforted her the way her voice coming through his earpiece comforted him. She was alive and talking, and that had to be enough for now. Information came out in drips and drabs; Ruth's captors were CIA, they were protecting Amphitrite, they didn't believe the story Ruth was selling about a fire. Harry kept feeding her lines, and she repeated them flawlessly. Whatever else happened today, Harry was immensely proud of her. She'd demonstrated her ability to think quick on her feet, and she'd gotten them the intel they needed. Now she just needed to come back to the Grid, to come back to him, whole and uninjured.

"You had better be right," the CIA man said, and Harry heard Ruth's sigh of relief. In that moment, he felt much the same.

* * *

As the CIA shuffled them towards the waiting cars, Amphitrite grabbed hold of Ruth's hand, begging her to come along. Numbly, Ruth followed. She still couldn't quite believe this had happened _again_ , and it took every ounce of willpower she had not to walk away right then. She only stayed for Harry, Harry who even now was speaking to her in that same soft voice, reassuring her, guiding her, keeping her level headed.

Amphitrite asked after her son, and Ruth assured her the boy would be fine.

"The CIA are very good," she said, her words sounding hollow to her own ears. If they were so bloody good, how had they missed the bomb threat? Perhaps Amphitrite was thinking the same thing; she just nodded glumly, and did not speak another word.

In just a few minutes they found themselves in an underground car park, and Ruth kept close to Amphitrite while Lucas talked to the CIA agents. She really didn't care about what any of them had to say at this particular moment; all she wanted was to go home. She got the distinct impression that Amphitrite felt the same. The scientist had stayed close by Ruth's side, almost touching her, as if she drew some comfort from the presence of another woman. It cost Ruth nothing to offer that relief, and so she made no move to step away.

And when the flash-bang landed in their midst, throwing them all to the ground and showering them with glass and concrete as the metal beams above their heads buckled dangerously and the car windows burst, Ruth turned to cover Amphitrite with her own body, but she was too late. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear, her lip was split and bleeding, and their assailants stole the scientist away. Ruth had failed.

Again.

* * *

 _There was no bomb…Kai was a triple agent...no way we could have known._

None of it was a comfort to Beth. She was seated behind her desk, silently berating herself for every mistake she'd ever made and especially those that had led them to this point. From her vantage point she could see Harry lean over Ruth's desk, see him say something to her in a voice too low for Beth to hear, could see Ruth answer him just as softly before ducking her head and looking away. Beth had nearly caused Ruth to be ripped away from Harry, and watching the sweet little scene playing out across the Grid tore at her heartstrings. Ruth meant everything to Harry, and in failing to protect her, Beth had failed them both.

"You couldn't have predicted this," Dimitri told her. Beth wasn't so sure.

"I couldn't have got it more wrong if I tried," she responded bleakly.

* * *

Everyone else was trying to track down Amphitrite, the adrenaline from the op had faded, and Ruth was trying to lose herself in details, and not focus too deeply on what could have happened. _Could have happened_ didn't count for much; what mattered were the things that _did_ happen, and she knew that better than most. Half of her life seemed to be comprised of _could haves_ and _should haves_ and _might have beens_ , and there was no solace to be found in regret and remorse. _Focus on the present,_ she told herself.

Ruth had been going over travel logs and old reports, and she'd found something that didn't quite match up. Lucas's travel logs had him taking a tube line that wasn't running on the day in question, and this wasn't the first instance she'd found of him saying he was in one place while really he'd been in another. What the hell was he getting up to? Lucas was a member of her team, and Ruth was supposed to be able to trust him with her life. If he was up to something she needed to know, and she needed to know _now._

Thoughts of what Lucas might be doing and how best to mention it to Harry swirled around her mind as she made her way back up from Registry; she'd been digging through GCHQ archives, looking for more intel on this QMK/Amphitrite business, and that was when she found Lucas, in a corridor he had no business being in, with a shifty look in his eyes. She spoke to him quietly for a moment; though she never asked what the hell he thought he was doing down here when he was meant to be on the Grid, Lucas was short and evasive, and as he walked away from her she lingered for a moment, feeling the first sharp sting of fear rising in the back of her throat.

 _Oh God, not Lucas, please not Lucas._

* * *

"You ok?" Ruth asked her kindly. The day was nearly over, and Beth was exhausted and absolutely bloody miserable. She gave a self-deprecating little sigh.

"I can't believe it was all a lie," she said.

"You came up against a better opponent, that's all. Could have gone worse." Ruth spoke so matter-of-factly that Beth couldn't help but wonder what exactly Ruth had seen, in all her years with the service. Triple agents and bomb threats and flash-bangs and kidnappings didn't seem to faze her; how did she do it? How did she keep chipping away at the mountain of horror, day after day, knowing what it had cost her? Perhaps there was no other choice for Ruth now, Beth realized. Perhaps, after a certain point, the service claimed you, body and soul, and there was no way out.

"How exactly?" Beth asked, lost in a quagmire of self-recrimination.

Ruth gave her a gentle look, but when she spoke, her words were firm and precise. "Well, in this job, every day you make it home in one piece, that's a little victory."

 _Jesus._ "Bloody hell. I can see why they don't let you write the prospectus." Beth's words were meant in jest, but in her heart she realized that with one little sentence, Ruth had just revealed the source of her own pain. How many friends had Ruth lost? Beth was sitting there, miffed because she'd been played by an asset, while Ruth watched her, remembering dead colleagues; the dichotomy of their problems was stark and confronting, in that moment. Ruth had bigger, more pressing troubles than Beth's self-pity.

"Your instincts were wrong on this one, but don't stop trusting them after on mistake."

Beth nodded, to show she understood, and Ruth just smiled and walked away.

* * *

In the end, Ruth was quite proud of her team, and the way they handled their final standoff with the Chinese. Beth had successfully talked the team down, Dimitri had successfully defused his first bomb, and Amphitrite was going with the Americans, willingly if not happily. They'd all done their jobs well, and avoided any unnecessary bloodshed, but it still didn't sit quite right with Ruth.

So she did what she always did, when she felt unsure and uncertain; she went to Harry.

"Harry," she said, announcing her presence as she stepped into his office. She'd caught him in the act of pouring himself a glass of water. Over the last few weeks, she'd found him reaching for water more often than for whiskey, and she couldn't help but wonder about that. Was he doing it for her, in some misplaced show of solidarity? Was he doing it for the peanut, in some weak attempt to take better care of himself so he'd be around, in the future, when their child needed him? Had he just finally realized that drinking during work hours was wholly unprofessional? She wasn't sure, but whatever the cause, the sight of him with a glass of water in hand made her smile, just a little, just for a moment, before she remembered why she'd come, and all traces of happiness fled.

"If you don't start knocking I'll have to have you fitted with a cowbell," he told her. If she hadn't been so upset, about losing Amphitrite, about handing Kai back over to the Chinese, she might well have smiled. As it stood though, her heart was too heavy to acknowledge their longstanding joke.

"Everything all right?" he asked, noticing her discontent.

 _No,_ she thought. She voiced her frustrations, about turning over human beings like pieces of meat, and not for the first time, she watched as Harry came around to her way of thinking, as he considered bucking protocol, just for her. He reached for the phone, and dialed Beth's number.

"If there's anywhere Mr. Kai would like to stop off on the way, do make sure he gets there safely," Harry told Beth before hanging up rather brusquely. Ruth stood and stared at him in shock; had he really just done that? Risked the wrath of the Chinese, after an already tense and politically disastrous day, just because she'd told him she was upset? She watched him for a moment, trying to find the words to explain how she was feeling. None came.

* * *

The day had finally arrived, the day of Ruth's amniocentesis, and the CSS hit squad were on a plane back to China. Somehow they'd done it, managed to get everything sorted, and somehow both she and Harry would be free for the appointment that afternoon. In all the chaos surrounding the Amphitrite op, Ruth hadn't had a single moment to herself, to let anxiety about the upcoming procedure overwhelm her, but now that they all had a chance to breathe, the fear rolled over her in waves. With all the protections and safeguards in place, the procedure still carried with it a risk of miscarriage. How could she bear it, if the peanut made it this far, only to be lost because of a procedure she'd agreed to? What if she made a mistake, in going along with it, and her baby died as a result? How could she face herself?

 _It's not the first time you've put him in danger,_ she thought glumly. _At least this time you're doing it for his own good._

They were preparing to leave, she and Harry, when the news about Steven Owen came down. Twenty-two years old, and going to jail for crashing the MI-5 mainframe and stealing twenty-four thousand pounds from a government slush fund. It didn't sit well, this info about a junior analyst going rogue; how could someone as young and inexperienced as Owen pull this off? As she relayed this information to the team she watched Lucas closely, and she was alarmed by his response. His voice was oddly emotionless as he declared, "a traitor is a traitor," offering her a shrug before turning back to his work. _You're right about that_ , she thought, _but what if we've flushed out the wrong one?_

"Ready to go?" Harry asked her, his voice soft and sweet and so close to her ear it made her jump; she hadn't realized he was standing beside her until she felt the wash of his breath against her skin. It made her tremble, just a little, and for once, not from fear.

She simply nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"We'll be back shortly," Harry told the team. "Lucas, you have the Grid."

And with that, he dropped one hand to the small of her back, and guided her off towards the pods.

Ruth wanted to shake free from his embrace; she could feel the weight of curious gazes that followed them as they walked, and she knew that every time Harry touched her, that curiosity only grew. Their team had been polite to a fault, inquiring about her health every now and then but never really engaging on any more personal topics, such as what the hell she thought she was doing, shagging the boss. No doubt most of them thought that she and Harry were properly together, that they had been from the start, with the exception of Beth, who had a front row seat to Ruth's quiet, Harry-free home life.

As Harry led her to his car and tucked her safely into the passenger's seat, her thoughts turned once more to Beth. The girl had been shaken by Kai's decision to return to the Chinese embassy, and face whatever horror awaited him back home. Ruth knew that Beth couldn't understand why he'd done it. Ruth understood, though. She knew how it felt, to carry the guilt of betraying a loved one, to feel the horror of their blood on your hands. Kai needed to cleanse his soul, and in order to do that, he'd chosen to accept his punishment. The Chinese would surely kill him for turning on them, but Kai would see whatever sentence he received as penance for betraying his brother. She couldn't help but wonder when her time would come, when she would face the consequences of what she'd done to George and Nico. She couldn't help but wonder if she would be able to face her doom with the same calm certainty Kai possessed.

"You're awfully quiet," Harry said from the driver's seat. "Are you nervous?"

Ruth shook her head. "No, just tired," she lied.

* * *

"Louisa, welcome back!" Doctor Peters said cheerily as she led the pair of them back to the examination room. "Who have we got with us today?" she asked, giving Harry a cheeky sort of look.

Ruth sighed. She really wasn't in the mood for this, just now.

Harry introduced himself, perhaps sensing the pensive turn her mood had taken and not trusting her to speak for herself. "Henry Perkins. I'm the baby's father."

Doctor Peters shook his hand enthusiastically. "I'm glad you're with us today, Henry. It's always good to have the father on hand."

They settled down in the examination room, Ruth climbing up on the table and Harry taking a seat just opposite her.

"I was sorry to miss the first scan, I was away on business." He was so smooth, was Harry; lying came as naturally to him as breathing. Ruth knew she had no right to hold that against him, though; she was as much a creature of the shadows as he.

"Well, you're here now. We're going to start off with a scan, and make sure that the baby is still doing well."

Ruth lifted her shirt and the scan began. For a moment she felt slightly self-conscious, laid out like that with Harry there to bear witness to her changing body, but then the sound of the peanut's heartbeat filled the room, and all her worries faded. She heard Harry's sharp intake of breath, and fought back a little smile. The memory of the first time she'd heard that sound was still fresh in her own mind, and she didn't have to wonder what he was thinking. She knew exactly how he felt.

"Everything looks good in there," Doctor Peters declared after a few moments during which Harry had sat spellbound, staring at the screen, and Ruth had laid back, staring at him, watching the flicker of emotion on his dear, sweet face. She felt safer, somehow, with him there beside her. As long as Harry was there, she was going to be ok.

"I'm going to apply a local anesthetic, Louisa, and then we're going to start the procedure."

Ruth's heart rate doubled, as she prepared herself for what was to come, and she reached out all unthinking, taking Harry's hand in her own. He offered comfort without complaint, giving her hand a little squeeze.

It was all over rather quickly; a big needle, a dull sting, and then they were done, and through it all, the peanut was fine. Ruth took her first proper breath since entering the examination room when Doctor Peters told her they were finished.

"It will be a few days before we have the results back. Once we have them, we'll be able to confirm the gender, as well as the baby's overall health."

"Thank you," Ruth said earnestly. She was still holding Harry's hand, but she found she really didn't want to let him go.


	22. Chapter 22

Harry drove her home after the amnio, insisting there was no point in her going back to work. She accepted rather grudgingly; it was getting on towards five, and if she had gone back to Thames House, she'd only be able to work for an hour or so before it was time for her to leave again anyway. So she sat beside him the car, wringing her hands and contemplating the myriad emotions running through her. She ticked them off, one by one; relief, that the procedure had gone well and the peanut was doing fine; joy, at the look on Harry's face when he heard their child's heartbeat for the first time; desire, from the touch of his hand and the warmth of him sat beside her in the car; fear, for what was to come; doubt, at the longing of her heart.

 _But why am I afraid?_ She asked herself. She'd been asking herself that question for a month now, ever since Harry had kissed her and she'd all but run away from him. What was there to fear, when she knew that Harry cared for her, that he wanted her in his life, that he didn't want her to go through this alone? The answer to that question lurked in the dark recesses of her heart, and for weeks she had avoided it, perhaps subconsciously, perhaps not. In the close confines of his car, her most recent brush with death still so fresh in her mind, Ruth finally admitted the source of her fears to herself. She feared that she might lose him; might lose him when he grew bored of her and the quiet domesticity of life with a baby, might lose him to a bullet, might lose him to another woman, younger and prettier and less broken, might lose him to her own sharp tongue and her own doubts. After all, she had lost him before. She had lost him, when her concerns over gossip had caused her to step away, and he had not pursued her. She had lost him again, when the dark forces they were sworn to defeat identified her as his weakness, and tore her from his grasp. She had lost him, the day George died and she blamed Harry and herself in equal measure. She had lost him, when he proposed, and she could not find the courage to say _yes._

Then again, he was still here beside her, still cautiously offering his support, still showing his concern and his care for her in a thousand different ways.

 _Be brave,_ she told herself as his car lumbered to a stop on the street outside her flat.

"Would you like to come in? Have a cup of tea?" she asked, the words tumbling out of her quickly, before she had a chance to think better of them.

Harry studied her for a moment, his hazel eyes guarded, his expression unreadable. "What about Beth?" he asked.

 _Oh, Harry._ Even now, after all this time had passed, after they had come right out and told the team that Ruth was pregnant with his child, Harry had not forgotten the way her fear of other people's perceptions had come between them in the past. Even now, he was worried that, like a small, frightened animal, she might spook and run at the first sign of trouble.

"Beth is still on the Grid," Ruth told him. "She texted me a little while ago, and told me she would be working late tonight. And if she wasn't, Harry, I wouldn't mind if she did see us, having a cup of tea together. It's not as if she doesn't know."

Harry smiled softly at that. "I suppose you're right. In that case, I'd love to come in."

She nodded, and ducked her head as she let herself out of the car, trying to hide the smile that lit up her face at his words.

They walked up the steps and into her flat together, Harry just behind her, and Ruth could almost feel his hand hovering at her back, not quite touching her, but reaching out for her all the same. No doubt he was motivated by some deep seated desire to guide her, to steady her, to offer her his support, and that simple gesture which would have felt patronizing coming from anyone else inspired a warm sort of affection in her instead. The cat came barreling round the corner, as soon as they entered the flat, mewling for his supper, and behind her Ruth heard Harry chuckle.

"What's this one's name, then?" he asked.

Perhaps one of the kindest things Harry had ever done for her was adopting her two cats, when Cotterdam and Oliver Mace stole her life away. He had brought them into his home, and cared for them for two long years. Moppet had died, while Ruth was away, and Fidget not long after her return. They were both ancient, when she left, and though Ruth missed the pair of them, their losses were distant enough now that she could look back on them and feel only fondness, for her two furry little friends and for the dear, sweet man who had given them a home when she could not.

"He doesn't actually have a name yet," Ruth confessed as she shed her coat and her boots in the front hall. "I've only had him a few months. I bought him not long after…" she trailed off, as she realized what she was about to say. She'd gone to a shelter and adopted the little cat not long after Harry's botched proposal, when she was convinced that there was no future for them, that she would spend the rest of her days alone. Rut had keenly felt the need for companionship of any sort at that time in her life, and though the cat wasn't Harry, he was better than coming home to an empty flat. "I bought him not long after Fidget died," she lied.

Harry was giving her a soft, gentle sort of look. "I was sorry to hear about Fidget," he said as he removed his jacket, and hung it on a peg by the door where it rested beside Ruth's coat. "He was a good cat."

Ruth did not trust herself to speak, so instead she just nodded, and shuffled off towards the kitchen.

"Are you hungry?" she asked as she started the kettle.

"Please, don't go to any trouble," he answered. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and found him leaning against the wall just inside the entryway to the kitchen, picking at the knot on his tie as he struggled to undo it.

The nights that Ruth had gone home with Harry, back before everything imploded, she had taken an almost childlike delight in removing his tie herself. She would press herself against his chest, his hands rubbing gentle circles on her back, and pull the tie free, and when she was done, he would lean down to kiss her, and she would let the tie slide to the floor, smiling against his lips. It became a little ritual for them, the first step towards shedding their troubles, and wrapping themselves up in each other, and in this moment the urge to go to him was too strong to be ignored.

"Harry," she said softly, tentatively crossing the kitchen to stand before him. He stared down at her, his whole body frozen, as if he could quite believe this was happening. "Let me." He gave her a little nod, and she reached up to loosen his tie herself.

Back when Ruth had first joined the team, Harry almost never came into work without a waistcoat and braces, always impeccably dressed and pressed and ready for battle. As the years wore on and grief and failure took their toll, he had slowly shed them, layer after layer, until all that remained of his once-impenetrable armor was his tie and jacket. Though she would never tell him this, Ruth missed the waistcoats and the braces sometimes. She smiled a little to herself, at the thought of Harry's broad chest in waistcoat, at the thought of running her hand beneath his braces, sliding them off his shoulders at the end of a long day. For now she would have to content herself with removing his tie, and she set to it with a will.

Perhaps Harry was recalling the days of their short lived affair just as she had done a moment before, because as she stood before him he caught her hips in his hands, his fingers pressing against her through the layers of her clothing, drawing her flush against him. She did not look up at him until she was finished, knowing all too well what she would find, should she turn her gaze to his face. Desire, certainly, and perhaps affection as well, making his soft hazel eyes turn dark with want. If she looked into those eyes she would be lost; long ago, when he had looked at her that way in the corridor of the Havensworth hotel she had found the strength to run, but the was before she knew the truth of him, knew the way he could make her feel, with his hands on her bare skin. Resisting him was harder now, now that she knew just how electric they could be together. Her heart cried out for him, and her body echoed the demand for his touch. She wasn't sure she could reject him now, and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

With trembling hands she dragged his tie free, letting it slide from her grip to pool on the floor as she laid her palms against his chest and finally gave in. She raised her head to face him, and could not stop the little gasp that escaped her, the moment before his lips crashed down on hers. His tongue brushed against the tight seam of her lips, and her own rushed out to meet him as she fisted her hands in his shirt and he lifted one hand away from her body to cradle her face instead. Everything fell away, as he kissed her hungrily, his tongue brushing against her own, his body warm and safe and solid, wrapped around her. He tasted the same, he smelled the same, he _felt_ the same; this was Harry, Harry who had given her everything he had, Harry who had stood beside her when everyone else fell away, Harry who loved her, even if he couldn't bring himself to say the words aloud, and she wanted _Harry_.

He distracted her, with wandering hands and his hungry kiss, and so she did not immediately realize that they had moved, until she felt her back connect with the wall, and a little whimper escaped her. She wanted him, wanted him _now,_ and she could feel he wanted her, too, could feel one of his hands wandering down her back and over her bum to knead the back of her thigh, could feel him slowly growing harder where he pressed against her stomach. She lifted her leg slightly, to give him better access, ground her hips forward against him, and caught his plump bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before he let loose a sound that was very nearly a growl, and kissed her even more fervently.

It was only when he reached to slide his hand beneath the hem of her blouse and his warm fingertips connected with the soft swell of her stomach that Ruth came back to her senses. She tore her mouth from his regretfully, but she did it all the same. This wasn't why she had invited him here, and as nice as it might be, to fall back into his arms, to drag him down the hall and into her bedroom and drown in his love, she still wasn't quite ready to make the leap. Her body was ready, more than ready, but her mind needed some reassurance, needed to know that this time it was real, this time it would last.

"I think the kettle's ready," she whispered.

Harry just nodded, and placed one last, almost-chaste kiss against her lips before letting his hands fall down to his sides. Ruth slipped away from him, trying to calm the frantic stuttering of her heart. She thought she heard him sigh, but when she turned to look at him, he was smiling at her softly, and taking a seat at her table. She smiled back, and fixed him a cup of tea, just the way she knew he liked it. When she handed him the mug, his fingers brushed against hers, and she did not flinch or turn away.

"Let me make you something to eat, Harry," she said.

"Ruth-" he started to protest.

She shook her head at him, and stepped away to dig around in her refrigerator for a moment. "I've some leftover lasagna, if that sounds all right."

"Lasagna would be lovely, thank you."

So Ruth set about warming them up some supper, fixing herself a cup of herbal tea while she was at it, and while she worked Harry simply sat, drinking his own tea and watching her over the rim of his mug. They did not speak, but they did not always need to. After so many years, Ruth had discovered that sometimes words just got in the way of what she and Harry were really trying to say to one another, and a comfortable silence was infinitely preferable to an uncomfortable conversation.

Eventually, though, dinner was ready, and Ruth found herself sat once again across the table from him. They set to with a will; though it was still a bit early for supper they were both bad about skipping lunch, choosing more often than not to work straight through, and the sustenance was welcome.

"Have you thought about names, at all?" Harry asked, and Ruth nearly choked on a bite of pasta.

 _Why, have you?_ She wondered. She quite liked the thought of Harry, sitting in his armchair of a night, nursing a tumbler of whiskey and wondering what they might name their child. It was…sweet, and normal, and everything she wanted for them.

"Don't you think it's a bit early for that?" she asked. If he did have any ideas, she was desperately curious to hear them.

Harry gave her a look that said quiet plainly _no._

"I have given it a bit of thought. I'd like to pick a…special name. Something unique."

"How did I know you were going to say that?" Harry said, and his smile told her that his comment was meant in good fun.

"Nothing too outlandish," she continued. "Whatever name we choose, he'll have to live with it for the rest of his life."

"So something special, but not too special."

Was he teasing her? Was Harry Pearce really sitting at her kitchen table and _teasing_ her? This whole evening felt like a dream, and if it was, she never wanted to wake.

"I quite like the idea of naming him after someone important to me…to us," she amended quickly. "We could call him James, after my father."

"And mine," Harry said. After a moment he shook his head. "I've never much cared for the name. I'm not sure why."

 _Duly noted,_ she thought. "Or we could name him after you. Little Henry." Harry raised his eyebrows at her, but she just smiled winsomely at him in response. If he could tease, then so could she.

"What, Henry James Pearce, Junior?" he asked incredulously.

"No, he'd been Henry James _Evershed_ Pearce, thank you very much." She gave a little toss of her head for emphasis.

Harry chuckled. "I suppose you're right."

"I have thought about calling him Adam," Ruth continued, in a slightly softer, more serious tone of voice, "but I thought that maybe Wes might one day like to…" she lost her voice, as sorrow threatened to overwhelm her, but Harry understood, just the same. He reached out, and gave her hand a little squeeze. He withdrew quickly, but that momentary contact left her yearning for more. She cleared her throat and continued, "I don't think Zafar would really work, for us, but there's always Daniel."

"Danny," Harry echoed, his eyes soft and distant as they sat together, remembering. The mood in Ruth's kitchen was becoming distinctly somber, and she desperately wanted them to laugh again, so she tried a new tactic.

"Or something else entirely. I quite like Benjamin."

Harry's eyes were still far away. "My brother's name was Benjamin."

 _Oh shit, that's right,_ she thought. Aloud she said, "I didn't know you had a brother." It was a lie, but Harry didn't know she'd read his confidential file, and she wasn't about to tell him that now.

Harry took a sip of his tea, cleared his throat, shifted uncomfortably in his chair for a moment. "He's been gone a long time now," he said quietly.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Ruth told him earnestly. Harry just gave her a sad little smile.

"What about Samuel?"

"Samuel is good, I like Samuel. But we've just come up with a list of good Christian names, Harry. What about something more-"

"Special?" his eyes were twinkling at her now, affection replacing the sorrow of a moment before.

"We could call him Max, or Caleb, or Finn, or Declan-"

"Nothing Irish, please, Ruth," Harry interjected. She gave a wry little smile at that. Of course not, not for Harry's son. "Besides, these are all boy names. Have you given any thought to what you might like to call the peanut, if it's a girl?"

"Well," she leaned back in her chair, cradling her rapidly cooling cup of tea in her hands. "There's Sophia, or Emma, or Eleanor. Though, if we named her Eleanor, I'd want to call her Ella. People hear Eleanor and they start looking around for someone's grandmother, not a baby."

"We could name her after you," he suggested playfully. "Little Ruth…" his voice trailed off and he looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to finish for him, but she just shook her head.

"My second name is Catherine, Harry. I'm not sure how your daughter would feel about that."

He hummed, his plump lips turning down into a shadow of a frown. "You're probably right about that."

"I know you'd rather not choose an Irish name, but what about Fiona?" For a moment Fiona Carter's face swam before her eyes, and she took a deep breath, valiantly trying to keep the ghosts at bay.

"Fiona was my mother's name," Harry told her in a quiet voice. Again, Ruth already knew this, but Harry thought he was sharing these pieces of his life with her for the first time, and she was immensely grateful to him, for placing such trust in her. "Though I think you were right before, when you were talking about Adam. Let's leave those names for Wes."

 _Christ_ , they couldn't even talk about baby names without getting maudlin. Ruth hoped that the peanut would be a happy child; his parents desperately needed something to smile about.

"Anyway, it's a boy. I'm certain of it."

"Are you?" Harry countered.

She gave him her best _mule_ expression. "I am."

"Would you care to make a wager on that?" he leaned towards her, his hazel eyes drawing her in as a moth to a flame.

"What sort of terms do you propose?" _This could get interesting…_

"We'll find out in a few days' time, when the doctor calls with the test results. If it's a girl, I win, and you let me take you out to dinner. And if it's a boy, you win, and I'll let you pick his name."

Silence stretched between them as Ruth pondered his offer. She'd like to go to dinner with him, and she wished he hadn't felt the need to resort to gambling on their child's gender to get her to agree to it. From the look on his face, though, she could tell his little wager was meant in good fun, and so she extended her hand to him across the table. As he shook her hand, she smiled and said, "It's a deal."

Harry did not release his grip, once their bargain was struck, and Ruth felt a familiar tension coiling deep inside her chest, but before either of them could say another word, they heard the sound of Beth unlocking the front door, and sprang apart like startled rabbits.

"Ruth?" Beth called from the foyer. "Are you here?"

"In the kitchen," Ruth called back. She had it in her mind to be embarrassed at Beth finding them like this, sharing a meal like it was the most natural thing in the world, but she sternly reminded herself that Beth already knew how things stood between them, and as far as she could see, her relationship with Harry had not changed the girl's opinion of her in the slightest.

"I've had the most bloody awful day," Beth whined as she made her way into the kitchen, but she stopped short when she saw Harry sitting at the table. Ruth did her very best not to laugh.

"Harry!" Beth said in a surprised little voice.

"Good evening, Miss Bailey," Harry answered, rising from his chair. He turned to Ruth. "I'd best be on my way. Thank you for a lovely meal."

 _Oh no, don't go, not yet,_ she thought, but she could tell he'd made up his mind, and so she rushed to her feet, her chair making a clatter as she pushed it back from the table.

"Let me see you out," she said. She could feel Beth's curious stare on her back as she and Harry made their retreat, stopping for a moment in the doorway to retrieve his tie from where it lay puddled on the floor, blushing and smiling at one another like teenagers.

They lingered for a moment in the foyer, neither of them quite ready for their lovely evening to end. Ruth wanted to say something, anything to let him know how much she appreciated his efforts, how glad she was he'd been with her today, how much she'd enjoyed their dinner, but before she had a chance he leaned in, and dropped a gentle kiss against her cheek.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Ruth," he said in a low voice, and just like that he was gone, and Ruth was left standing alone in her front hall, a soft smile on her face and her fingertips pressed against her cheek where his lips had brushed her skin.


	23. Chapter 23

Saturday morning dawned dark and gloomy, and Beth found she was in no mood to leave her bed. She and Ruth had both been lucky enough to be rostered off for the entire weekend, and as she lay quietly under the duvet she could hear her flatmate rummaging around in the kitchen, and she smiled to herself. Even on their days off, Ruth was always up early; no doubt the years of rising at first light had taken their toll, and left her unable to ignore the insistence of her own internal alarm clock. That had never been a problem for Beth, but then again, Beth had never had a proper job before. There was something so incredibly, blissfully indulgent about remaining in bed while someone else in the house was stirring, about willfully lingering amongst the sheets and pillows, knowing she had nowhere she needed to go, no one she needed to see. Beth fully intended to spend the entire day in her pajamas. She would order delivery for lunch and dinner both, stay up late, drink too much wine, and laze about tomorrow as well, if she could manage it. _God,_ Beth loved the weekend.

She couldn't quite seem to get her eyes to close, though. Beth very much wanted to go back to sleep, but her mind was awake, and her bladder, too, apparently. Grumbling, she tumbled out of bed and shuffled off toward the bathroom, half-heartedly trying to convince herself that she could go back to sleep when she was finished. As soon as her feet touched the floor, she knew she was fighting a losing battle.

Ruth called out a cheery good morning, when she heard Beth's bedroom door open; Beth just grunted, and continued on her way. She decided that since she was in the bathroom anyway, she might as well have a shower, and just like that, her plans for a lazy day began to fade.

As she stood beneath the spray Beth found herself pondering a question that had been bothering for several weeks now. She needed to talk to Ruth about whether or not it was time to start looking for a flat of her own, and she was dreading it. Beth had been alone for most of her life, and up until now, she had quite enjoyed it. But living with Ruth had been so unexpectedly _nice_ ; Ruth offered companionship, and a friendly ear when Beth had a rough day, and a certain sense of security, too, knowing that no matter how bad things got, Beth would always have someone to count on. The thought of being once more adrift, of coming home to an empty flat and no Ruth cooking up a storm, no little cat whining for his dinner, left her feeling deeply saddened, as if she'd already lost her friend. She knew it was silly, knew that she and Ruth would still be there for each other, but it wouldn't be the same.

 _This isn't about you, Bailey,_ she reminded herself sternly. She was a big girl, and she needed to act like one. Ruth had bigger things to worry about than Beth's desire for a confidante.

So Beth toweled herself off, tugged on her bathrobe, and went to join Ruth in the kitchen.

A heavenly smell greeted her as she approached, and when she went to fix herself a cup of tea, she traced the smell to a tray of freshly-baked muffins, still too hot to eat. Ruth was sitting at the table, pecking away at her laptop, and so Beth joined her.

"Those muffins look amazing," she said as she took her seat.

Ruth smiled. "I thought you might like a nice home-cooked breakfast," she said.

 _I won't be getting too many of those, once I leave,_ Beth thought morosely.

"They're chocolate chip," Ruth added, and Beth nearly groaned aloud.

"You're going to be a wonderful mum, you know that?" she said instead. She wasn't being flippant, either; Ruth was so thoughtful, so kind, and (usually) so even tempered, and Beth was certain that the peanut would be lucky indeed, to have such a woman for a mother.

Ruth blushed and ducked her head. _This woman needs to learn how to take a compliment,_ Beth thought.

"I take it everything went well, with the appointment yesterday?" Beth asked. She assumed it had done, since she'd come home to find Harry and Ruth sitting in this very kitchen with a slightly guilty air about them, as if she'd caught them shagging on the table instead of eating lasagna together.

Ruth nodded. "Doctor Peters says the peanut is doing fine, and we'll have the test results on Monday or Tuesday."

"And you'll find out the gender too, right? That's exciting."

Ruth smiled a small, mysterious smile. "It is. We were talking about names, yesterday. It will be easier to decide, once we know what to expect."

 _That's so sweet I may vomit._ She could just picture Ruth making a whole long list of names and going over them one by one, crossing them out, chewing on the end of her pen the way she did when she was concentrating hard, with Harry watching her all the while, that besotted expression he reserved just for her painting his features. They really were well-suited, Beth had come to realize over the last few weeks, and it seemed to her that they both wanted the same thing, and maybe dinner last night had been the first of many small steps towards reconciliation for them. She desperately hoped it had been; they deserved some happiness, and the peanut deserved to have parents who actually spoke to on another. Not like Beth's parents, who slept in separate rooms and lived separate lives, never communicating, except to argue over money.

"Doctor Peters also said I can expect to feel the peanut start to move, sometime in the next month or so." Ruth seemed delighted at the prospect, and Beth was genuinely happy for her. Now seemed as good a time as any, to raise the question she'd been brooding about all morning, and so she did.

"Speaking of things to expect, I was wondering; should I start looking for a flat? I mean, I assume you'll need my room for the nursery."

"Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about that." Before she continued, Ruth rose from her chair, and got them each a nice warm muffin. She handed one to Beth, and then dragged her laptop to the other side of the table, so she could sit next to Beth, and Beth could see what she'd been working on.

"I'm thinking about buying a house. I want to have a place where the peanut can grow up, with a little garden for him to play in, without having to worry about him waking the neighbors every time he cries. I've been looking this morning, and I've found several good options already. We have a few reputable estate agents on file, people we use when placing new agents, and I'm going to start making phone calls on Monday."

"That's wonderful!" Beth said enthusiastically; it made sense, for Ruth and for the peanut, and even if it made Beth sad, to know that she was going to have to set out on her own, she was determined to be happy for Ruth.

"When I do move, you should keep this flat. I don't own it anyway; the service does."

Beth had to raise an eyebrow at that. As far as she knew, no one else in Section D was living in a government-owned flat.

"Harry arranged it," Ruth said, gazing very hard at her muffin and refusing to meet Beth's eyes. "After I came back. The service wanted to compensate me, for what happened…to George, but I wouldn't take the money. The flat was Harry's idea. I'm sure we could make it so that you could stay here, if you'd like."

For the thousandth time Beth wondered what exactly _had_ happened to the mysterious George; she'd never heard of the service offering compensation, for the lives of those lost in the field, but perhaps the rules were different, if the deceased was a civilian. She assumed he'd been a civilian, but it was all just conjecture, really. Ruth wasn't talking, and Beth wasn't about to ask.

"If that's possible, I would love to stay here," Beth said carefully.

"I hope you will. I know what it's like to be constantly on the move. You deserve to have a home. Now, tell me what you think about this place," she said, turning to her laptop. And so they spent the next hour or so looking at houses, oohing and ahhing over gardens and hardwood floors and local amenities. It was a rather pleasant way to pass the time.

* * *

It happened for the first time just before the Monday morning meeting. Ruth had made her way to her desk and was dutifully assembling the weekly threat assessment when she felt something…odd. Just a little flutter, really, the brush of a butterfly's wing inside her stomach, and when she realized what it was she very nearly cried out. Instead, she discretely pressed her hand to her belly, underneath the desk, and willed it to happen again. _Come on peanut,_ she thought. _Do it again. Do it for mummy._

And there it came, just as gentle this time as the first, but unmistakable and completely remarkable, all the same. She leapt to her feet, and rushed into Harry's office, sliding the door closed behind her as she went.

"Harry," she said excitedly, realizing too late that he was on the phone. He held up one finger, asking for silence as he continued to speak to whoever the hell was on the other end of the line and Ruth tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for him to finish. _Stupid bloody man,_ she thought affectionately, _this is important!_

Finally, he hung up the phone and gave her his full attention. "Ruth. What is it?"

"He moved!"

Harry stared at her blankly. "Who did?"

"The peanut," she explained belatedly. "He moved, just now. I felt it."

Harry's face split into a wide grin. "Really?" He looked as excited as she felt, at the prospect of their child's first real movement, and she fell in love with him just a little bit more in that moment. He stepped out from behind his desk and was beside her in an instant, close enough for her to smell his cologne, close enough to send a shiver down her spine. It was still early in the day, and he had yet to raise the blinds in his office, and Ruth realized rather suddenly that they had as much privacy as they were ever going to get on the Grid. She was absurdly thankful for it, just then.

"Is he moving now?" Harry asked. _God,_ but he could look so much like a schoolboy sometimes, when his face lit up like that, and all it made her want to do was kiss him senseless.

She shook her. "Not at the moment. I'm not sure you could feel it anyway; it wasn't a proper kick, but it's something, and I… wanted you to know."

Harry leaned towards her, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "I'm glad you told me," he said in a warm, low voice, the same voice that always turned her knees to butter.

"I'll let you know if it happens again," she promised him breathlessly. If she didn't leave, right this minute, she was going to kiss him, and as much as they both might enjoy it, she knew this was not the right place for that sort of behavior. She gave his arm a gentle little squeeze, and slipped out of his office regretfully.

* * *

Life on the Grid was blissfully quiet for the next day or so, for which Ruth was extraordinarily grateful. Chaos tended to come in little bursts, a thousand different things going wrong all at once for days on end, and then they'd receive a short reprieve, and Ruth had learned to make the most of those quiet moments. They were all sitting in a painfully dull meeting on Tuesday afternoon, discussing the rather bland surveillance of a few would-be bombers who didn't know the difference between ammonium nitrate and nitroglycerin when they were interrupted by the ringing of Ruth's mobile. She started to silence it, but then realized with some trepidation that it was Doctor Peters, no doubt calling about the test results.

"I have to take this," she said, meeting Harry's concerned gaze and giving him a reassuring little smile. She stepped out into the corridor just outside the meeting room, and answered.

"Hello?"

"Louisa, it's Doctor Peters. How are you doing today?"

Ruth fought the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. "Fine, thank you," she answered shortly.

"I'm just calling about the results from the amniocentesis."

The woman could just as bad as Tariq, when it came to dragging out the reveal of some important piece of information.

"Yes?"

"The tests all came back negative, your baby appears to be perfectly healthy."

Ruth breathed a sigh of relief. They'd been testing for genetic disorders, and she was grateful to know that she had one less thing to worry about, where the peanut was concerned.

"That's wonderful news, thank you."

"Would you like to know the baby's gender?" Doctor Peters asked kindly.

Ruth's heart started beating double time in her chest. _Time to find out who won the wager,_ she thought.

"Yes, please."

"Congratulations, Louisa, you're going to have a little girl."

 _A girl._ And just like that, every thought she ever had about the peanut changed from _he_ to _she_ , and Ruth fought the urge to cry as she suddenly envisioned a sweet-faced little girl with her father's curly blonde hair and his soft brown eyes. _A girl._

"Louisa?" Doctor Peters sounded a bit concerned, and Ruth realized that she had waited entirely too long to respond.

"Yes, I'm here. Thank you so much, Doctor Peters. Henry will be thrilled."

"You're very welcome. I'll see you for your appointment next month."

Ruth bid her a warm farewell, and then leaned back against the corridor wall, smiling to herself. _A girl._

 _I have to tell Harry._

She made her way back to the meeting room, but when she opened the door she did not step inside. Harry deserved to hear this news first, alone, without the rest of the team looking on with curious eyes.

"Harry? Could you come out here for a moment?"

He bolted to his feet, worry etched all over his face, so she gave him a watery little smile, trying to let him know everything was all right.

"What is it? What did the doctor say?" he asked as soon as the door closed behind him.

"The peanut's fine, she's absolutely fine."

That wasn't quite the way Ruth had intended to tell him, but it had the desired effect. It only took a moment for Harry to process what she'd said, and then he was grinning at her (a rather goofy grin, she thought).

" _She?"_ he asked.

"She," Ruth confirmed.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him hard, chuckling just a little with the same relief, the same joy that had filled Ruth the moment she'd learned that the peanut was healthy. For once, she did not think about the consequences, and instead returned his embrace just as fiercely, clutching him tightly, her fingers digging into the soft material of his jacket.

After a moment he eased his grip just a little, just enough to be able to look into her eyes as he said, "We're going to have a daughter."

"We are," Ruth agreed, feeling slightly shell-shocked. _We are,_ she thought. _We._

He kissed her then, a warm, soft kiss that was entirely too fleeting for her taste, and entirely too intimate for the corridor outside the meeting room.

"Well, Miss Evershed," he said as he pulled away from her, "I believe this means you owe me dinner."


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: This chapter takes place at the end of episode 9.5. I have once again slipped into Harry's mind for a bit here. Also, I'm playing around with dates a bit, I hope you don't mind. On an unrelated note, I realized, perhaps too late, that there was a typo in a previous chapter, which referred to the amnio as taking place at the end of the fourth month of Ruth's pregnancy. This is incorrect; the procedure took place at the beginning of the fourth month, as it's typically performed at around 14-16 weeks. I apologize for the inconsistency, and have now corrected it, so perhaps any future readers will be spared the confusion.**

* * *

 _It's all right, Harry. I'm with my daughter._

Levi Cohen had been a friend of Harry's for many years, and yet, in all that time, they had never spoken of this, this one great and terrible sin they shared in common. They had both of them deserted their daughters, when their girls most needed a father. To be fair, Catherine had not been kidnapped and tortured by Harry's enemies, as had Levi's poor Anna, but Harry had abandoned her, all the same. He'd abandoned her long before the divorce, when he'd fallen into Juliet's bed, when he'd allowed himself to be blinded by duty, when he'd held himself aloof from the family that needed his strength, his affection, his time.

Catherine had always possessed a depth of compassion, of empathy, that never failed to surprise her father, and never failed to terrify him. _How can I protect her,_ he worried, _when she insists on putting herself in harm's way?_ He understood the hypocrisy of that, that a man who devoted his life to the defense of the realm should be so horrified that his daughter might share his desire to help those in need. It didn't change the way he felt about it, though. He had tried, rather ham-handedly, to discourage her tendency to get involved in other people's righteous causes, not because he did not share her concern, but because he wanted her _safe,_ and _well,_ and _whole._ He had seen what devotion to a cause could do; he lived that brokenness every day. This attempt at protection had only served to confuse her, to wound her, to push her further away from him, and it had taken years for their relationship to reach the point of occasional emails.

As he watched Levi Cohen, kneeling at his daughter's feet, holding her hand in his own as the life faded from her, the weight of his mistakes with Catherine came crashing down on him. She needed what Anna had needed; she needed someone to be there for her, someone to come when she called, someone to heal her hurts, and not admonish her for receiving them in the first place.

In just a few days, Catherine would be back in the country, and he had arranged a tentative visit. _I'm really busy, dad,_ she'd written in an email, that most impersonal form of communication his only connection to his eldest child. _I might have time for a coffee._

He'd written back as enthusiastically as he could manage, forcing himself to be as close to effusive as he had ever been with his daughter.

 _That would be fine. I just want to see you, Catherine. I've missed you terribly, and I would very much like to speak with you, in person, for whatever length of time you can manage._

His fingers had hovered over the keys, sitting there in his office on a Monday night when everyone else but Ruth had gone home for the day. For a moment he glanced away from his message, and as always his gaze went straight to her. She was nibbling on the end of her pen, a phone caught between her ear and her shoulder, her left hand pecking away at her keyboard. Harry smiled, despite himself; how typically Ruth, doing a million different things at once, and most likely excelling at all of them. From this distance he could not see the rise of her stomach; nearly eighteen weeks gone, and she was barely showing, but it was there, he knew, their little peanut, growing like a weed, safe and sound within the shelter of her body.

Their peanut; his daughter, too, as much as Catherine.

Things were different, this time around. He was older, wiser, sadder, than he had been thirty years before when Jane had first told him she was expecting Catherine. At that time, having a baby seemed to be what was expected of him, the next thing on the list marked _becoming an adult_ , but he'd assumed (wrongly) that it was more to do with Jane than with him, and he'd steered well clear of it. There had been no sitting in examination rooms, listening with bated breath to the sound of his child's heartbeat, no picture tucked away in the breast-pocket of his jacket; hell, he hadn't even been in the hospital when Catherine was born. At the time, he hadn't realized quite how much he was missing, and it was only as his children grew older, and grew farther away from him, that he realized what a fool he'd been.

Fatherhood was a wonderful thing, and precious, and he had squandered every opportunity he ever had to be a good father to his children when they were young. Headstrong and foolish, he had tried to put his down and barrel through every problem like an angry bull, rather than taking a moment to remind himself that they were young, and that it was his job to teach them kindly, as much as to reprimand them. Strangely, his years of shepherding young field agents through dangerous operations had taught him more about being a father, more about keeping a steady-hand and an even temper, than the years he'd spent with his own children.

Now that Ruth was expecting, he was determined to apply the lessons he'd learned to his approach to the role of fatherhood. It was surprising, how easy it became to express his emotions, at least to Ruth. This thing they shared, though so unexpected, had bound them together, had given them a way to slowly begin to let the affection they'd always felt for one another show. Somehow that affection was easier to bear, when they centered it around their daughter. Ruth was less reticent, when he touched her now; when they discovered that she would be having a girl, she had let him hold her, as they shared their joy. Just the other day, she'd felt the peanut kicking, and had taken his hand and pressed it flat to her stomach, under her shirt, in the hopes that he could feel it, too. He couldn't, but he treasured that moment of openness between them. Her natural hesitance where he was concerned was tempered somewhat by the thought that these displays were for the benefit of the baby, and not for her.

So yes, he would be a better father than he had been in the past, but Catherine and Graham deserved to reap the benefits of his experience as much as the peanut did. So he would see Catherine, for five minutes, or ten, or however many she would give him, and he would try to let her know that he was a better man now than he had been before.

* * *

Ruth made the trip down to see her mother alone, in the end. It might have been nice, to have Harry by her side, even if he only identified himself as her boss, but there were some things she felt she needed to do alone, and this was one of them. Not telling her mother had been a mistake of the highest order, and bringing Harry along as back up would only serve to put more distance between herself and Elizabeth.

She pulled her little blue car to a stop in front of the house her mother shared with David, and took a long, unsteady breath. When she dressed this morning, she'd chosen a particularly loose blouse; she planned to tell her mother and step-father about the baby, but she wanted to do that in her own time, and she didn't want to draw any speculation before she was ready.

 _What will they say?_ She wondered. After all, they both thought she'd been dead these last three years. A cover story had been concocted, and Harry had even procured documents to back it up, should it come to that. Ruth would say that she had witnessed a violent crime, and had been forced to go into witness protection until the matter was settled. It was close enough to the truth, and spared her having to say things like _I'm sorry, that's classified._ They didn't know what she did for a living, and if she had her way, they never would. There are some burdens no parent needs to carry, and the fear that came from knowing one's child faces mortal peril with an alarming frequency was one hard truth she could spare them.

Before she could get her thoughts in order, she saw David walking round the corner of the house, a set of pruning shears in his hand. _He always did love the garden,_ she thought numbly. He'd stopped in the middle of the grass, staring at her car, but she wasn't sure if he could make out her face from this distance. Even if he couldn't, it wouldn't do to keep him waiting.

She opened the door, and stepped out of the car.

As she closed the car door behind her, David dropped the shears to the ground.

 _One foot in front of the other. Just go to him._

She took one step, and then another. David matched her, his pace as cautious and uncertain as hers, and eventually, they met in the middle.

"Ruth?" he breathed, his face a study in confusion.

"Hello, David," she answered, surprised by how shaky her own voice sounded.

And then, rather suddenly, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to him tightly, his body shaking with barely suppressed emotion.

David Shaw had always been kind to Ruth. Even when things were bad, really bad, between David and Elizabeth, he had always had a soft, quiet word for her. Every time he went round to the shops, he'd stop and pick her up a book from the library, trying to connect with her the way her own father had done. His overtures were awkward, and occasionally bordered on the hilarious, but he had always _tried._ When she was young, Ruth had resented him, for usurping her father's place. As she grew older, though, she understood how lonely they had been, David and Elizabeth, both of them with a dead spouse and a child to raise, and she came to appreciate him so much more. Peter had driven a wedge between them, as he and Ruth grew into adulthood and tried to avoid each other as much as possible, resulting in cancelled Christmas plans and promises to ring never honored. But still, David had never given up, and in a way, Ruth loved him for it. Not as she'd loved her own father, perhaps, but still.

"I can't believe it's really you," David said, his breath ruffling her hair as he moved back a bit, to get a look at her.

Ruth was surprised to find her vision blurred by unshed tears.

"Some days, I can't believe it either," she told him. He laughed at that, a slightly hysterical laugh that died quickly on his lips.

He just looked at her, taking in the lines of her face, three years older and a hundred times more sad.

"Come on, then," he said gruffly, taking a step back and clearing his throat. "Come have a cuppa."

She nodded, and followed him into the house.

* * *

"I'm sorry dad, I haven't got long," Catherine said breathlessly as she flung herself into a seat across the table from him. Ruth had gone down to visit her mother, and Harry had been waiting for nearly fifteen minutes outside a stylish little café, his coffee gone cold and untouched as he worried that perhaps his daughter wasn't coming at all.

"That's all right," he said. Catherine look surprised, that he should take her tardiness and her hurried attitude so in stride. Truth was, he felt a bit angry with her, for making him wait, but his anger was nothing compared to his relief, at seeing his daughter alive and well. "It's wonderful to see you. You look great."

"Who are you and what have you done with my father?" she asked suspiciously, sounding so much like her mother that Harry just had to laugh.

"I mean it, Catherine. I am glad to see you. How was Israel?"

"Hot," she answered tersely.

Harry hummed, reached for his coffee, realized it was too cold to be palatable, and returned the cup to the table.

"And Fabian?"

"What's this about, dad?" she sighed.

His open-hearted little girl had grown into a distrustful young woman, and Harry supposed he had no one to blame but himself. He kept a tight rein on his tongue, and tried to maintain an even keel. He tried to imagine he was talking to Zoe Reynolds, instead.

"There is something I need to tell you, but I would like to catch up first."

"Just tell me. I'd rather hear it now, then spend the next ten minutes worrying about it."

Harry took a deep breath. _How the hell do I explain this? Start at the beginning._ "There's a woman. Ruth."

Catherine raised an eyebrow at him. They had never, ever discussed his personal relationships, with the exception of a few occasions when Catherine had been shouting at him and the word _whore_ had been bandied about.

"We work together. We've been through rather a lot, these last seven years."

"You've been seeing this woman for _seven years_?" Catherine's voice rose several octaves in righteous indignation.

"No, no, we've _worked_ together for seven years. We're not seeing each other, not properly."

"Oh." She leaned back in her chair, wrapping both her hands around her mug.

Harry floundered, unsure of how to continue. What could he say, that would not send her running from the table in a fury?

"Go on, then. What about Ruth?"

"About four months ago, we lost a colleague. A friend. It was a…difficult time, for both of us, and we've always been close."

"So you slept with her," Catherine supplied for him, her eyes narrowing.

"Well, yes, but it wasn't like what you're thinking. Ruth is very important to me, she always has been," Harry protested. It wouldn't do, to have Catherine thinking it was just some sort of mindless fuck, born only out of grief. There was something else between them, _something wonderful;_ there always had been.

"And yet, you're not seeing her properly."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "That's not entirely my doing. Ruth has been through a lot and she finds it difficult, sometimes, to be…well…" he trailed off, not sure how to continue. Catherine had a sort of shocked expression on her face; this was more emotion than she'd ever seen from her father, this conversation more personal than any they'd ever had. Likely she'd believed Harry to be just as cruel, just as heartless as Jane had always said he was.

"So what about Ruth? If you're not seeing her-"

"Ruth's pregnant." He said it quickly, before he completely lost his nerve.

His daughter flinched as if he'd struck her, horror dawning in her eyes.

"You can't be serious," she hissed, leaning towards him, anger rolling off of her in waves. "For Christ's sake, dad, you'll be fifty-seven in November. What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

"We weren't," he answered honestly. "As I said, it was a difficult time for both of us."

"And how old is she?"

"Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine, the end of this month."

" _Jesus,_ dad." Catherine sounded completely disgusted with him, and Harry's heart was heavy in his chest.

"I know. It's not ideal. But we're going to make the best of it. She's very important to me, Catherine. And so are you, which is why I'm telling you now."

For a long moment Catherine sat in silence, glaring daggers at him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. Harry felt rather like crying himself; he had hoped that this might be an opportunity for them to draw closer together, but all he could see was her pulling back, shutting herself off from him. _It's no more than you deserve,_ he thought glumly.

"It's a girl. The baby, I mean," he volunteered eventually, trying to draw her back out.

"I'm going to have a little sister," Catherine said faintly.

* * *

"Where's mum?" Ruth asked as David handed her a cup of tea.

He sighed, and ran his fingers through his ruffled grey hair.

"She's not well, your mum," he said sadly.

"Not well?" Ruth's heart sat heavy in her chest like a stone. In all the time she'd kept herself away, she'd never really considered the possibility that her mother wouldn't be home, when she came to call.

"Elizabeth has always been a bit…fragile, and losing you was hard for her to bear. She started going downhill not long after you…left. Alzheimer's, they said."

 _Alzheimer's._

Elizabeth was losing her memory, and Ruth couldn't help but feel it was entirely her fault. _How could I have done this?_ She thought miserably. _How could I have hurt her this way?_

"It's not your fault, Ruth," David said in a comforting sort of voice, reaching out to pat her hand lightly with his own. "These things happen."

"How is she?" Ruth demanded, her throat tight with guilt and grief.

David shrugged. "She has good days and bad. On good days, she's the same as she ever was. On bad days, she can be moody, and violent. She'd try to drive the car, and then forget where she was going. Once she wound up going the wrong way down a one-way, nearly ran right into another car. Or she'd forget that she was cooking, walk away and leave the stove on. I can't watch her every minute, so I had to move her into a home. For her sake. I'm so sorry, Ruth," he said, and at those words, she began to cry in earnest.

David rose from his chair, and came to sit beside her, drawing her against him and running a soothing hand up and down her back. He let her cry, and held her close, and never once accused her.

 _You did this,_ Ruth thought. _You did this to her._

* * *

"Yes," Harry sighed. "You're going to have a little sister."

"Will I get to meet her? This Ruth?" Catherine asked.

That surprised him a bit; he'd fully expected her to have walked away by now, and the fact that she was expressing any interest at all in meeting Ruth seemed to him to be a good thing.

"I would like that, very much. She's visiting family in Exeter today, but perhaps later, if you've the time, we could all share a meal."

Catherine nodded. "I think I'd like that. I've got to say, I'm terribly curious. That doesn't mean I'm happy, dad. I'm so mad at you I can hardly think, right now."

"I know. You've every right to be cross with me."

Catherine glanced at her watch, and rose from the table in one fluid movement. "I'm sorry, I've got to go. I'll ring you, about dinner."

Harry rose as well, wishing he could hug her, knowing she wouldn't let him.

"All right. Thank you for meeting me today."

She started to walk away without another word, but Harry couldn't let her go without saying softly, "I love you."

Catherine turned, and shot him a sad smile over her shoulder.

"'Bye, dad."

* * *

"I'm pregnant," Ruth said, when the tears finally stopped and she found her voice. David released his hold on her, his expression an equal mix of surprise and happiness.

"Oh, Ruth, that's wonderful. Congratulations." He leaned forward, and kissed her cheek.

Ruth shook her head sadly. "But what about mum? She's never going to know her grandchild, and it's all my fault."

"You can't think like that, Ruth," David said sternly. "Like I said, she has good days and bad. I'll talk to the doctors about when would be the best time for you to go and see her, so she doesn't get too much of a shock. When the baby's born, you can introduce them, and we'll put up pictures in her room, to help her remember. On the good days she'll know, and that's all that matters."

"You're a good man, David," Ruth said quietly.

"And you're a good woman, Ruth. We've always been so proud, Elizabeth and I, of the person you've become, despite our mistakes. Now, tell me where you've been."


	25. Chapter 25

It had taken them nearly a month, between operations on the Grid and visits with family, but Harry was finally taking Ruth out to dinner. He picked her up at half past seven, looking rather handsome, she thought, in a dark navy shirt and dark trousers, his collar undone and his sleeves rolled up. She'd almost laughed, when she opened the door for him; they _matched._ She'd chosen a soft navy dress, the roundness of her belly unmistakable, at nearly twenty weeks gone. Ruth was trying to ignore the fact that the dress highlighted an increased roundness in other parts of her anatomy, as well. Over the last two months, she had slowly begun to open herself up to the possibility that perhaps she and Harry were not past the point of saving. He had been gentle, and kind, and she found herself drawn to him, not just because of the change in his attitude, but because of the change in her own. The imminent arrival of the peanut had solidified Harry's continued presence in her personal life, and had forced her to face some hard truths about herself and her feelings.

There was no point, she'd eventually decided, in keeping Harry at arm's length to protect her heart. Holding herself back from him hurt her _now_ , and it wasn't worth that pain to defend herself against a heartbreak that might never come. This was their chance; not their first, nor their second, nor even really their third. Forces beyond their control kept throwing them back together, and she had decided to seize this opportunity, on the off chance that it was their last.

"So, where are we going?" she asked once they were both safely ensconced in the car.

Harry seemed unduly nervous, his expression bordering on outright shyness.

"It's a surprise."

Ruth smiled. "All right, then. You know I'm not a big fan of surprises."

He grunted as he drove, eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. "Neither am I. But this is a good surprise."

As they drove along Ruth pondered whether or not she ought tell him that she was considering buying a house. She'd contacted an estate agent, and had even visited a handful of properties, but she'd yet to see anything that caught her eye. This was beginning to make her a bit nervous; she was five months gone, now, and rapidly running out of time. It would be rather difficult, she imagined, to deal with all the petty details involved in moving house while her attention was focused on a newborn, and she wanted to have the matter settled before she took leave.

Her leave was a bone of contention, between Ruth and Harry. Ruth was quite happy to work up until the day the baby was born, and Harry was adamant that her leave ought to start well before then. Her five-month check was coming up later this week, and she planned to raise the matter with Doctor Peters, in the hopes that her doctor at least would be on her side, and overrule Harry with a professional opinion. Harry had expressed some interest, in attending the appointment with her, and she was rather looking forward to it.

"Here we are," Harry said softly, drawing her out of her reverie. He turned slightly in his seat, watching her closely as she took in their surroundings.

"Oh, Harry," Ruth breathed, tears filling her eyes unbidden.

He'd taken her to the same restaurant they'd been to, all those years before, on their date. Small, and intimate, casual without being bland, and, if her memory served, the food was excellent, as well.

The thoughtfulness of the gesture stunned her into silence. For so long they had struggled to keep their relationship professional and aloof, and so each of those little moments, like their one and only date, grew into almost mythological significance. The fact that he had brought her _here_ was a not-so-subtle reminder of not only their history, but the depth of feeling that wound each of those disparate events together, weaving them into a tapestry that told the story of their lives together.

"Is it all right, if we eat here? We can go somewhere else," Harry said nervously.

Ruth leaned across the seat, and kissed his cheek. "This is perfect," she said.

* * *

"I have a suggestion to make, but before I say anything, I would like to ask that you hear me out. I have thought this through, and I would like for you to hear my perspective, on the subject, before drawing a conclusion."

They were lingering over dessert; ordinarily, they would be halfway through their second bottle of wine at this point, but once again Harry had eschewed alcohol in favor of water. Never once had he drawn attention to his decision not to drink in her presence, and Ruth was all the more fond of him for it. It was pointless, really; just the smell of wine was enough to turn her stomach, so she didn't particularly miss it, but she appreciated the gesture, all the same.

His words burst the little bubble of happiness that had been steadily growing inside her chest throughout their meal. Their conversation had been rather gentle; he had teased her, just a little, she had blushed, just a little, and as the night wore on, any nerves she had felt about her decision to allow Harry back into her heart had begun to fade. The anxiety returned ten-fold now, though, as she wondered what sort of proposition might prompt such an introduction from him. _Please, please don't ask me to marry you again. Not right now. Not yet._

"I think I can manage that," she allowed.

Harry cleared his throat, fidgeted with his shirtsleeves for a moment, took a sip of water. He practically radiated apprehension, and Ruth found herself willing him to just get on with it.

"You'll need some help, once the baby comes," he started. She opened her mouth to protest, remembered that she'd agreed to hear him out, and closed it again. Harry didn't miss her almost-interruption, and he gave her a little smile before continuing. "Your body needs time to heal, and the peanut will be up at all hours. You won't have time to worry about things like cooking and cleaning; Jane used to complain that she didn't even have time to shower."

For a moment he looked suddenly horror-stricken, as if he'd realized too late that mentioning his ex-wife to Ruth might not be the wisest course of action. It was her turn to smile at him. She didn't mind, really; she was still rather curious, about what things had been like for Harry when his children were small, and she was grateful he felt comfortable enough around her to share even that little tidbit of information.

"I know you've said you don't want a nanny right away."

Ruth nodded. She knew that eventually she would return to work, and that as a single parent she would need to make some sort of childcare arrangements. She much preferred the idea of a nanny, someone who would be with the peanut one-on-one, every day, but she didn't want to hire one right from the outset. All the parenting books talked about the importance of bonding with the baby, and she was determined that, at least for the first few weeks, she would do as much as she could on her own.

"My suggestion is this: my house has three bedrooms."

Ruth's heart leapt into her throat and she made a small, squeaky sound of surprise. The denial that had formed on her lips died rather abruptly when Harry raised his hand, asking for quiet.

"I'm not suggesting a permanent solution, Ruth. You could stay with me, until you found your feet. I know I wouldn't be around, much, but I could help out. I'd be around some nights and weekends, and I could manage the shopping, and a bit of cleaning and cooking, as needed. I could watch the peanut, so you could rest. Or shower," he added, giving her an almost hopeful sort of look. "You could have your own room, Ruth. I'm not trying to chain you to my bed. It would only be for a little while, until you were comfortable with the peanut, and when you feel you're ready, you could find a place of your own. I can't imagine you want to stay in the flat."

With that, he folded his hands in his lap, and looked at her expectantly.

Ruth took a long drink from her glass, her mind turning at a breakneck pace.

On its face, it wasn't an entirely laughable suggestion. She _would_ need help; she imagined that being cooped up with a newborn, completely alone, every minute of every day would only drive her mad. And if it was important for the peanut to bond with her mother in the first few weeks of her life, surely it was important for her to bond with her father, too.

But it would mean living with _Harry._ He'd been rather thoughtful, in offering her a room of her own, and he'd made no assumptions about the romantic side of their relationship. She had no doubt that he would respect any boundaries she set for them. The question was; what sort of boundaries _would_ she set? Would she be comfortable, sleeping in Harry's house, knowing he was so close by, and yet not sharing her bed? How exquisite would that pain be? How would she manage, watching him go off to the Grid every morning, living his life while her own stood still? Could she stand to do this?

Could she stand not to?

"It's not a bad idea, Harry," she said finally, and watched him visibly relax. "I'll just need a little time, to think it through."

"Of course," he nodded. "I'd expect nothing less from you. I just want you to know the offer's there, should you choose to accept it."

There was something else, another worry that his suggestion brought to the front of her mind.

"What happens after I leave, Harry?" she asked, the words tumbling out of her before she could stop them.

"Ruth-" he started, clearly unhappy. Harry didn't like these sorts of conversations. Ruth had made up her mind, that she would leave the service once the baby was born, and Harry could not even bear to talk about it.

"I'm serious, Harry. We need to discuss this. I have six months, for maternity leave, and another month of holiday time owing, but once that runs out, I'll be looking for employment elsewhere. I might not ever come back to the Grid. What happens to us then?"

"Well, I have a suggestion for that, too. I just wasn't sure when I ought to bring it up."

If he'd been nervous before, it was nothing compared to how fretful he appeared now.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this suggestion?" Ruth asked wryly.

"We could get married. In name only," he added quickly, when he caught sight of her expression. "Just for the paperwork. It would just serve to establish a legal connection between us. We could wait a reasonable amount of time, and then get divorced. I would be permitted contact with you as my ex-wife; no one could object, particularly as you're the mother of my child. It would only be a means to an end, Ruth."

 _The mother of my child._ She smiled, despite the rising tide of doubt that threatened to drown her. She loved to hear those words, coming from him, in reference to her. She could only imagine how it would feel, to hear him call her _my wife._ Would this be as close to marriage as they ever got? A rushed little ceremony, performed solely for practical reasons, and no mention of the love between them? Would it be that easy, to just get divorced, or would the quagmire of emotions that surrounded whatever it was they were to each other overwhelm them, turn them bitter, make what should have been a simple proceeding long and complicated?

"Marriage isn't something we should take lightly, Harry," she said.

"What makes you think I'm taking this lightly? I won't be cut off from you again, Ruth. I couldn't stand it. This is a very serious proposition."

She sighed. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

"Give me some time to think about that, too. I'm not saying no, Harry, I'm just saying…give me time."

He leaned back, and smiled a soft, sad little smile. "I can do that."

Ruth nodded, appeased. Dinner had been going so well, and even though the last few minutes had been a veritable emotional minefield, she was determined not to let her fears and her doubts put a damper on things.

"I have something for you," Harry said after a while, still smiling.

 _What on earth?_

Perhaps her confusion showed on her face, because he continued, "Surely you haven't forgotten, Ruth. It's your birthday tomorrow."

"So it is." She hadn't forgotten, exactly, it was just that her mind was full of so many different things right now that her birthday had taken a backseat to her worries about the future. Their future.

"I've left your present in the car. Why don't you let me take you home, and I'll give it to you when we get there. That way you can enjoy it tonight."

Ruth raised an eyebrow at that. A million possibilities flitted through her mind, each more tawdry than the last, and she couldn't stop the blush that colored her cheeks.

Harry's answering grin was practically mischievous.


	26. Chapter 26

Beth and Dimitri had drawn the short straw, and would be spending the night on the Grid, watching the most boring surveillance feed in the history of man. Their would-be bombers had spent most of the last three days ensconced in a dingy little flat, playing card games and eating a truly astronomical amount of Chinese takeaway. Rationally, she knew that their enforced, protracted isolation was most likely a sign that these men planned to strike soon, but there was a small, irrational part of her that believed they were being deliberately dull, just to torture her.

Still, Dimitri was good company. At the moment, he was teasing her gently about living with Ruth.

"Is it not weird for you, though, living in her flat? I mean, what do you do when he comes round?" Dimitri asked, leaning against Beth's desk.

Beth looked up at him sharply. In the two months since the Medea disaster and the revelation of Ruth's pregnancy, she had not heard a single member of their team, with the exception of Harry, breathe a word about it. Even Harry had been circumspect in his approach to the topic; he would stop by Ruth's desk, at least once a day, and ask her how she was feeling, and nothing more. Though there had been one Tuesday afternoon when Ruth and Harry had had a terrible row, the details of which were muffled by the glass walls of his office but which Ruth later confessed to Beth had been centered around her plans to wait to take leave until the last possible moment, and Harry's vehement disagreement. Other than that, none of the boys had said a thing.

Dimitri wasn't remarking on it directly, but his question indicated that he assumed that Ruth and Harry were seeing each other, properly. Beth knew better, but it wasn't her place to speculate.

"Honestly, Ruth is the best flatmate I could ask for. She bakes muffins. She's quiet. Harry doesn't come around much."

"Really?" Dimitri raised an eyebrow.

"Really," Beth confirmed. She wasn't about to get into specifics; whatever Ruth and Harry did on their own time was their own business, and God knew they had little enough to smile about. The truth was, she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Harry had come round to the flat, and one of those times had been because she'd called him herself, terrified that Ruth had come completely unraveled. That was something else Dimitri didn't need to know about.

Dimitri shrugged, but before he could say anything else, Beth told him firmly, "I don't think it's something we should be talking about."

"It really isn't," Tariq piped up from somewhere behind her.

Beth nearly jumped out of her chair at the sound of his voice. She hadn't realized he was still on the Grid, and so she was simultaneously kicking herself, for not being more observant, and patting herself on the back, for not saying anything incriminating.

"Tariq, I've been wondering; were you around, when Ruth came back?" Dimitri asked curiously, turning to the young man and offering one of his easy smiles. Though the question seemed a bit incongruous with their previous conversation, Beth understood where he was coming from. Like her, Dimitri was new to the team, and like her he was just trying to figure out how things stood. He'd been quick enough to realize that whatever existed between Harry and Ruth had started long before the peanut's arrival on the scene, and he was clearly just as curious as Beth to learn more about their history. She wished he hadn't been so obvious in his attempts to ferret out information; he still had a lot to learn.

Tariq did not appear to be charmed by Dimitri's little grin. He crossed his arms over his chest, and gave Dimitri a long, steady look.

Beth rather liked Tariq. He was young, and a bit shaggy-haired, but he had been with 5 longer than Beth or Dimitri, and there were moments when his general aura of congeniality shattered, just a bit, and Beth caught a glimpse of the same darkness that haunted the more senior members of the team. He had seen some things, she knew, and though for the most part she thought of him as a loveable younger brother, there were moments like this when the weight of his experience made him seem so much older than his years.

"Not yet," Tariq said, in answer to Dimitri's question. "I came along a few weeks later."

And that was that. Tariq offered no more information, and Dimitri appeared to have given up his little digging expedition for the moment.

Beth turned back to the monitors, thinking hard. There were times when she felt like she was part of a team, a cohesive unit working towards a goal, and then there were times when she realized just how little time they'd actually spent together, and just how little they really knew about each other. What would it take, she wondered, to bind them together, the way Harry and Ruth were? Was grief the glue that held Harry and Ruth so inextricably? Perhaps the rest of them simply hadn't had been through enough together, yet, to build the trust and respect that was needed to stabilize their connections. They would continue to work together, and perhaps one day they would have proven themselves, beyond the point of testing little mind games like the one she'd just been a part of.

* * *

Ruth was quiet, for much of the drive back to her flat, mulling over Harry's words in her mind. She tried to picture it, living with Harry; she imagined them putting the baby's nursery together, imagined holding their child close while he cooked them supper, imagined handing the baby off to him when she needed a moment to herself. She imagined awkward, early morning confrontations in the hallway outside the bathroom, wondered what the chances were of her accidentally discovering him in a state of undress, or vice versa. The question that bothered her most, though, was this: was that all he wanted for them? Had he given up on her completely? Was this little dinner, and all the little moments they shared over the last few weeks, an expression of simple affection, and not love at all? Earlier tonight she'd put on the sexiest article of clothing she owned (the dress still fit firmly in the "frump" category but still, for Ruth, it was rather daring) and slid into the passenger's seat of his car, wondering if he might try to take her to bed, after dinner; now, she was beset with worry, that he might never again want her in that way.

 _Stop it,_ she told herself firmly. _Stop._ She forced herself to remember the kiss they'd shared, pressed up against the wall in her kitchen. How could he kiss her that way, just a few weeks ago, and not want her now?

Maybe it wasn't that Harry had given up on them, she mused. Maybe it was simply that he had decided to try a new tactic. Since the day she'd rejected his proposal, she had pulled back from him each time he made a physical overture; maybe he'd decided to move her into his house so that she'd have nowhere to run, should things turn passionate between them, and she would be forced to fall into his arms again.

Carefully she turned her gaze to his face, studying the curve of his lips and his soft, dark eyes. _Or maybe,_ she thought, _he just wants what's best for the peanut._

Whatever his motivations, this was a huge decision, and she knew it would take some time to work out just how she felt about it. Harry knew she needed time to think – he'd said so himself – and she hoped that he wouldn't mind a long delay, between his offer and her acceptance or rejection.

"Home again," Harry said softly as he pulled up in front of her flat.

Ruth offered him a falsely bright smile. "Do I get my present now?" she asked.

Harry bought her a present each year on her birthday, and each year, the gifts grew more and more personal. That first time he'd bought her a book about cats, among other things, but the book had stuck in her mind. It was such a sweet, slightly bumbling thing to do, giving her that book; yes, she loved books, and yes, she loved cats, but she'd never had the slightest interest in reading such a thing. Still, Harry had learned enough about her interests to put two and two together, and thus, her gift. It made perfect sense, coming from the sort of man who also thought that chocolates made a fine birthday present. He could be so very…inept, for lack of a better word, when it came to the practical stuff of personal relationships. In truth, though, Ruth found his attempts at this side of romance to be nothing short of adorable.

And he had learned, over time; he'd given her an absolutely lovely edition of Ovid, one year, having discovered both her love for the mythology and the absence of that particular volume in her collection. For her birthday last year, when she was still only recently returned from Cyprus and still a bit morose, he'd arranged for a massive bouquet of flowers to be delivered to her flat, and then presented her with a delicate silver necklace, tucked away neatly in a little box inside one of her desk drawers. It wasn't a particularly expensive piece of jewelry; likely he'd understood that diamonds or something equally ostentatious would only terrify her with their extravagance. Instead it was simple, and understated, matching the more muted style of dress she'd adopted these days, and she couldn't help but wonder if he'd picked it for her thinking of the charm necklace she always used to wear, and hoping she would choose this one as its replacement. She was rather fond of it, and wore it often, thinking of him every time she did.

They were just little gifts, never accompanied by any sort of big declaration, but she couldn't help thinking that it was the growing intimacy between them that resulted in the improvement of the presents. He understood her now as he had not all those years before, and his gifts were symbolic of that understanding, and of his affection for her.

"Of course," he told her, opening his door and sliding out of the car. Ruth followed him quickly, curiosity gnawing at her.

Harry reached under the backseat, and pulled out a rectangular package, neatly wrapped in crisp white paper.

"Happy birthday, Ruth," he said as he handed it to her.

She wanted to say _no, come inside, I'll open it there,_ but she didn't. He had an expectant sort of air about him, as if he wanted to open it right then, and she was still so thrown by his earlier propositions that she couldn't quite bring herself to drag him into her flat. _Another time_ , she thought, _when things are more settled._

With a show of some excitement, Ruth tore off the paper, and opened the box.

It was filled with paper shreds, to offer some cushion for its contents. In the center of the box there lay a small book; an early edition of _Seven Pillars of Wisdom._ Ruth gasped; she couldn't imagine what such a thing might have cost him. Her own copy had been lost, after Cotterdam, and Harry knew it. Harry had gone round to her house, immediately after her departure, scooping up her cats and quickly packing away a few of her treasures before Internal Affairs (and her mother) descended on the place and tore it to shreds. He'd rescued her copy of Ovid and a few other volumes as well, but this particular book had not been among the ones he'd taken, and her mother had sold the rest to a second-hand bookshop. When she'd returned, she had struggled to hide her disappointment, that _Seven Pillars_ had not been salvaged; it had been one of her favorites since she was very small and had stolen her father's copy, staying up late to read it under cover of darkness. She'd even mentioned her interest in T.E. Lawrence in her application to MI-5, and credited that early exposure to Middle Eastern culture as her primary motivation for learning Arabic in the first place.

And Harry, knowing all of this, had not only bought her a copy, but an extremely rare one, at that.

"It's not quite an original edition, I'm afraid," Harry said, trying not to smile.

For her part, Ruth was trying not to cry.

"I should think not," she said, "since there are only about six still in existence."

Through a haze of unshed tears, she noticed that the book was not the only object inside the box. All around it were small baubles, bath bombs and the like, and from the look of them, they were all her favorites.

"Beth helped me out with the rest," Harry explained sheepishly.

Somehow, it wasn't surprising, that Harry would have required help in that department. Ruth had to bite back a laugh at the image of Harry walking into Lush and asking questions about bath products in his best angry-interrogator voice.

"Thank you, Harry," she said earnestly. "It's… _wonderful_."

As ever, Harry appeared a bit awkward in the face of such obvious emotion, and so she only kissed him on the cheek, and drew away from him quickly. They lingered for a moment there by the car, neither of them knowing quite what to say. So much had happened, in the last hour, and Ruth couldn't even begin to determine exactly what it was she was feeling, just now. She didn't want to send the wrong signals, and so she did nothing at all, wondering what on earth was going through his mind.

It was Harry who broke the tension, offering her a quiet _good night._ Ruth returned his farewell, and they turned at the same moment, walking away from one another, each of them smiling, just a little.

The very instant she closed the door behind her Ruth deposited the box on a side table, and drew out the book. She opened it up, knowing exactly what she'd find, and wanting to read it, anyway.

 _Seven Pillars_ contained a dedication, in neat black type on a weathered yellow page, and for the hundredth time, Ruth's eyes hungrily devoured the familiar words.

 _I loved you, so I drew these tides of_

 _Men into my hands_

 _And wrote my will across the_

 _Sky and stars_

 _To earn you freedom, the seven_

 _Pillared worthy house,_

 _That your eyes might be_

 _Shining for me_

 _When I came_

And as she read them, in her mind all she could see was Harry's face, the day that Mani dragged her into that warehouse, and the little twitch of his lip that was the only outward sign of the turmoil that gripped him, upon seeing her again. She remembered staring into his eyes, those eyes she had longed to see for two long years, those eyes shining bright with longing and with fear. She knew, now, what he had done, in her absence, the risks he had taken, the sacrifices he had made, knew that he had used every ounce of political currency he had to give her back her life, and she found herself bowled over, once again, by the truth of this man. This man who fought ceaselessly, tirelessly, for good, who commanded a veritable army of field agents, their safety a heavy burden on his shoulders. This man who had done so many terrible things, in the name of a greater cause. And she thought, too, about how many of those great and terrible things he had done for _her,_ and somewhere deep inside, she forgave him, forgave herself, and allowed a small seed of hope to begin to grow.


	27. Chapter 27

There was no hiding from it any more, Ruth thought grimly as she slipped into the bath. At twenty-two weeks gone, what had previously been no more than a little "bump" was a full-grown belly, preceding her everywhere she went, its shape and size and nature easily discernable beneath the bevy of new outfits she'd been forced to purchase. As the days passed it would only continue to grow, and she knew that in a few weeks' time this protrusion that seemed so enormous now would be laughably small in comparison, but she was still adjusting to this new reality. Her back had begun to ache, at the end of every day, her feet had begun to swell, and things would only get worse. How on earth was she going to manage it?

There had been times, over the last twenty-two weeks, when Ruth had been able to forget, however briefly, about the peanut. Times when she wasn't ill, and she'd still managed to squeeze into her favorite skirt, and thoughts of work, or Harry, or a particularly good book had distracted her, and all the apprehension she felt about becoming a mother began to fade. Those moments of blissful ignorance would be in short supply now; how could she forget, when the peanut was moving so much more now, when her stomach had grown so large, when her whole body seemed to whisper, in a thousand different ways, every minute of every day, _change is coming?_

 _I know you're in there, little one,_ Ruth thought as she tried to relax, to let the heat of the water soothe her aching muscles. Absently she dragged her fingertips across the swell of her stomach, feeling the smooth tautness of her own skin, so alien to the touch. It was hard to say which thought scared her more; that she still had almost four whole months of this left to endure, or that in only four months she'd be holding her child in her arms. Her current perception of time presented a strange dichotomy in which four months was simultaneously too much and not enough. It was too much time to spend in a state of increasing discomfort, feeling slightly disconnected from her own body, struggling to recognize it as her own. It was not enough time to sort out how she felt, to find a home, to prepare herself to take responsibility for another life.

Ruth had never spent much time around babies. She'd known other girls, growing up, who would babysit, earn themselves a little money on the side looking after the neighbors' children. As she grew older, she watched her friends go all moony over little babies in prams, watched them pair themselves off and gleefully start families of their own, pulling themselves away from their old lives as they drowned in the details of their new ones. Ruth herself had never been particularly bothered about babies; she'd never even held one, until she was almost twenty years old and her cousin had thrust a mewling little bundle at her during a Christmas party, saying _Ruth, be a dear and hold him for me? I'm dying for a piss._ Ruth had stared at the child in her arms, and the child had stared right back, his whimpers slowly dying as his face took on expression of confusion quite similar to her own. It was as if he'd sensed that she had no idea what she was doing, and, much like Ruth herself, was just desperately hoping she wouldn't drop him. The cousin had returned, the baby had changed hands, and Ruth had wandered away, thinking how grateful she was that she'd been able to give him back, that she had managed to avoid assuming such an awful burden in her own life.

Now, twenty years later, Ruth was about to take hold of a child she would never be able to hand back. The peanut would be _hers_ , her responsibility, her flesh and blood, her greatest fear, realized. Well, she amended in her mind, the peanut would be hers, and _Harry's._

 _Oh, Harry._

 _Your father loves you very much,_ she told the peanut. _Sometimes he gets cross, and sometimes he doesn't know what to say, but no matter what, he loves you._

"He's not so bad," she said aloud. Beneath her skin she felt a little flutter, almost as if the baby had heard her, and she smiled. She'd read somewhere that there was some evidence that babies could hear, in the womb; perhaps she ought to speak to the peanut aloud more often, so her child could become accustomed to her voice. Beth wasn't home, to hear her talking to herself and begin to doubt her mental faculties, so now seemed as good a time as any to start.

"Your father is a good man," she continued, resting one hand against her stomach, cradling it almost, wondering if the warmth of her hand could penetrate all the layers of skin and muscle and tissue that separated her from the peanut. "We've seen a lot of scary things, he and I. We have done some things we're not proud of. We don't how to talk to one another, sometimes, but that doesn't mean we don't care."

Absurdly, she felt a little bit better about things after saying that out loud.

There was so _much_ between she and Harry, so many things left unsaid. There was grief, thick and strong and clingy as mud after a summer rain; there was a dock-side confession cut short, and a feeling never vocalized; there was the echo of a gunshot, and the sound of Ruth's hysterical cries; there was a question asked in haste, answered too cruelly; there were memories of kisses, of whispers, of needs satisfied in the dark of night, never acknowledged in the light of dawn; there was a duty, forever drawing them further into darkness.

And there were two offers, made in good faith, still to be considered.

"I don't know what to do, little one," Ruth said sadly. And she truly didn't.

Accept Harry's offer, move into his house, and then…what, exactly? Live as a lodger in his spare room until being alone with their child no longer terrified her, and she was strong enough to return to work? Live in Harry's house, but slowly cave to his obvious desire for closeness to her, and risk them falling apart, even more spectacularly than they had done before? Or reject his offer completely, and stumble through this alone, never knowing what would have happened, if she'd only given them a chance?

"Ruth? Are you home?" Beth called from the hallway.

"In the bath!" Ruth answered, giving herself a little shake. She'd been submerged in the water long enough for her fingertips to turn pruney and for the relaxing scent of the bath bomb Harry had given her to fade away completely.

"Time to get out," she declared softly, slowly dragging herself to her feet. She was growing more ungainly by the moment, it seemed, and soon even something as simple as climbing in and out of the bathtub would be beyond her. "You're not making this easy on me, you know," she muttered. The peanut did not deign to respond.

* * *

Beth had only been home a few minutes when Ruth came to join her in the kitchen, the ends of her hair slightly damp and a vague sent of lavender wafting all around her. Beth sipped her tea and smiled; apparently, the little errand Harry had sent her on a few weeks ago had been a success.

"Have a nice bath?" she asked.

Ruth gave her a wan little smile. "I'm trying to enjoy it while I can. One of these days I'm going to get into the bath, and you'll have to call the fire department to get me out again."

Beth chuckled at that, just a little, but her mirth faded away as she noticed just how _sad_ Ruth looked. There was something about her eyes, like a shadow on a sunny day, and it made Beth worry for her flatmate. Things had been going rather well, Beth thought, and clearly Harry had found the time to give Ruth her birthday present; surely the woman should be happy, just now, and not falling back into the melancholy that had plagued her during the first few months of their acquaintance.

"Everything all right?" Beth asked, trying to sound reassuring, rather than nosey.

Ruth gave an almighty sigh, and slumped into a kitchen chair beside her.

"We're friends, aren't we?" Ruth asked.

 _What kind of question is that?_

"I should think so," Beth responded. After the tearful night they'd spent together in the bathroom, Beth had felt a bond growing between them, only strengthening as the days wore on and they learned to lean on one another more and more. Ruth's trust was precious to her, and she was forever trying to prove that she deserved it.

"I've never been particularly good at sharing… _things,_ with people. Problems. I like to face them on my own. I like to think I've done a pretty good job, so far."

Ruth had drawn her bathrobe tightly around her, like a child clutching her favorite blanket as a talisman against the terrors of the dark. Beth didn't know how she was supposed to respond to that sort of statement, and so she kept quiet. She knew that Ruth was a deeply private person, and she respected that boundary as much as she could. For people like them, people living on the periphery, cloaked in shadow, sharing too much was dangerous, and Beth understood that all too well. But why was Ruth bringing it up now? What problem was weighing on her mind? Would she trust Beth enough to ask for help?

"I just don't know what to do, any more. I thought the answer would come to me, in time, but I just can't seem to find it." Ruth seemed perturbed by this; an analyst by nature, she appeared to be completely dumbfounded by the notion that there might be a question that could not be answered by research and sheer intellectual brilliance.

" _A problem shared is a problem halved_ , my gran used to say," Beth volunteered quietly. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know what was troubling Ruth so deeply, but she supposed that was what friends did for one another. Shoulder some of the burden, when the weight of life became too great.

Ruth smiled a sad little smile. "My gran said the same thing."

For a long time the pair of them were quiet, Ruth musing, Beth waiting. Beth wasn't about to press; she'd learned months ago that Ruth was not the sort of woman who responded well to pressure in personal situations. Put her on the Grid, tell her the fate of the country rested on her slender shoulders, and she would throw herself into her work with relish, digging her way to the bottom of any crisis, and pulling them all back from the brink. Demand to know how she was feeling, and she would bolt like a startled rabbit, and never recover. So Beth sipped her tea, and waited.

"Harry asked me to move in with him."

 _There it is._

Beth had been wondering if that might come up, one of these days. It seemed to her that Harry wanted, very much, to be a part of Ruth's life, and he was obviously smitten with the peanut. And it made sense, that they share the responsibility of caring for their child, that they try to be a family, to build a home, together.

"But you're not sure?" Beth prompted gently. However obvious the answer might be to Beth, it was clear that Ruth was struggling with it.

Ruth shook her head. "It's not as if we're together-"

Beth couldn't stop the derisive little snort that escaped her. She looked at Ruth quickly, searching her friend's face for some sign that she had given offense.

Ruth looked sad, still, and a little troubled.

"You don't understand," Ruth sighed, shaking her head.

"I don't," Beth agreed. "But can I tell you how I see it?"

Ruth did not speak, did not move; she simply pinned Beth with her luminous gaze, and waited to hear what she had to say.

 _Easy now, Bailey._

"It's clear that you've had your problems, you and Harry. I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through, and I know that there is something that's keeping you from being…together, like you said. But I see the way you look at one another. You're both so in love with this baby, and you're both happier, when you're around one another. You can't say you're not together, when the first thing you do every morning is walk into his office, and the last thing he does every night is call you. You're about to have his child. You might not be a traditional couple, but you can't say you're not together."

It was rather a long speech, for Beth, and she felt both winded and a bit exposed at the end of it. She hadn't meant to say all that, and she worried that she'd gone too far. Ruth was such a private person; how would she respond to Beth's observations about all those quiet little moments between Ruth and Harry that she was never supposed to have seen? And she hadn't even mentioned her involvement in the purchase of Ruth's birthday present or the night she'd come home and found them having dinner together, with Harry's tie lying on the floor by the doorway for some unknown - and likely rather tawdry - reason.

Ruth looked completely flabbergasted.

"Wouldn't you like for the peanut to grow up with both her parents, in the same house?" Beth continued. "Wouldn't you like to have some help with her? Wouldn't you like to be able to see him-"

Ruth raised her hand to stop the flood of Beth's words, and, like a student who had been thoroughly chastised by a teacher, she immediately fell silent.

"I would like that, very much," Ruth said quietly.

"Then what's stopping you?" The atmosphere in the kitchen had shifted, somewhat; Beth got the feeling that Ruth was close to the answer, and her part in this particular little play was nearly done.

"Fear? Habit? Guilt? Yeah, let's say guilt." Her eyes had a far-away look to them, as if she were remembering something from another time, another life. "I've hurt him, Beth."

"I don't think he cares, Ruth."

That comment earned her a sad little laugh. "You may be right."

"You'll never know what could have been, if you don't try. It might be a disaster, or it might be wonderful." Beth had learned that lesson in her own life, had closed too many doors, lost too many friends, and she seized every opportunity that was afforded to her, now. She thought it was high time Ruth did the same.

" _Something wonderful…."_ Ruth mused. Beth got the feeling that those words weren't really intended for her ears. Ruth's voice had trailed off, and she didn't look like she was going to speak again any time soon. It was difficult to say whether any actual decision had been made, but it seemed that for now the time for discussion had drawn to an end.

"I'll always be here, Ruth, if you need a friendly ear."

Ruth reached out and squeezed her hand in a gentle, motherly sort of way.

"Thank you," she said earnestly.


	28. Chapter 28

Despite his instinctual distrust of politicians and everything associated with them, Harry was beginning to like William Towers. The circumstances of his appointment had not been the best, but he had proved himself to possess a shrewd mind and a rather refreshingly frank manner of speaking. It was thanks to Towers's intervention (and Ruth's harsh recriminations) that Harry had not resigned his post all those months before, and Towers seemed genuinely pleased that Harry had decided to stick around. Ordinarily their meetings were mercifully short and remarkably civil, but as Harry took his seat across from Towers's desk today, there seemed to be a strange sort of tension in the room.

There was a certain cast to the other man's face, a sort of curiosity warring with indignation, and Harry quickly ran through the list of current operations in his mind, wondering what could possibly have upset the H.S. this time.

"I've just heard a very interesting rumor, Sir Harry," Towers began, and Harry sighed. He had been trying for months now to convince Towers to refer to him simply as "Harry", and for the most part the H.S. had obliged him, only trotting out his title when he was pulling rank or particularly cross. Harry felt a bit apprehensive, wondering what sort of bollocking he was in for.

"Have you?" he asked carefully.

Towers hummed. "I heard that Ruth Evershed is pregnant."

Harry's heart stuttered in his chest for a moment. This was exactly the sort of thing he'd been hoping to avoid; while most of the field agents in Section D were aware of the peanut situation, up until now he and Ruth had managed to fly under the radar, and keep her condition away from upper management. She was even seeing her doctor under a legend, so that no word of her pregnancy had been entered in her personnel file. He knew they couldn't keep up this charade forever, but he had been hoping for just a bit more time. Hoping that they could keep their secret, at least until she'd made a decision about her living arrangements.

"I also heard that you're the baby's father."

And there it was. Towers was glaring at him accusingly, as if Harry had just insulted his mother, and Harry was rather disgruntled by the other man's reaction to the news. This was a delicate situation, and Harry knew that tact was called for, so he said nothing at all, waiting for Towers to make the next move.

Towers took his silence as a tacit admission of guilt. "Good God, man, tell me it isn't true."

Harry almost laughed aloud. As if he would ever disavow his child and leave Ruth to bear this uncomfortable scrutiny alone.

"We've nothing to be ashamed of. There is nothing in the regulations that prohibits my having a relationship with a member of my staff," Harry said in a remarkably even tone of voice.

"Christ almighty," Towers muttered darkly.

 _This is going well,_ Harry thought glumly.

"How long has this been going on?"

 _Seven years, or six months, depending on how you look at it…._

"My life outside the walls of Thames House is none-"

"It _is_ my business when it puts one of your best analysts in danger, Harry! You must know you've painted a target on that poor woman's back. You've just hand delivered your biggest weakness to any nut job with a grudge."

Harry leaned back in his chair, trying to control the anger burning in his chest, trying not to let his words run away with him.

"Have you read Miss Evershed's personnel file, Home Secretary?" The use of Ruth's surname was deliberate; Harry would not hear one disrespectful word about her, from the Home Secretary or anyone else.

"I have it right here, as a matter of fact," Towers fired back, motioning towards a thick file on his desk. "It makes for interesting reading, or it would do, if there weren't three years worth of information unaccounted for."

Harry nodded. "I'm well aware that the file has been edited, Home Secretary, seeing as I did the editing myself."

Towers didn't have a response for that. In fact, he looked absolutely flabbergasted. Harry fixed the man with his patented angry-Section-Head look, and explained, "You haven't been here very long, and I must forgive your ignorance of her past, seeing as you were not in office during that time and the information has not been made available to you. Miss Evershed has sacrificed more for this country than you can possibly imagine, and the suggestion that I have somehow only just now put her in danger is laughable. You're right, to say that she is a weakness of mine, and you're right to be worried for her. What you do not know is that Ruth has already been used against me in such a way; twice, in fact, and we are both still here to tell the tale. I will not let fear keep me away from her, and I will continue to do everything I can to protect her and our child."

He kept his voice low, but he spoke with some heat; how dare Towers accuse him of being negligent where Ruth's safety was concerned?

"Twice, you say?" Towers mused. "I think I'd rather like to hear that story." He gave Harry a rather pointed look.

Harry shook his head. "Not today, Home Secretary, I fear I'm not in a talkative mood at present."

"I could have you sacked, for editing her file," Towers threatened.

"You'd have a hard time proving it was me," Harry responded calmly.

Towers grunted. "What's she doing with a disagreeable old bastard like you anyway?"

Harry laughed. "I honestly have no idea."

The two men eyed one another for a long moment, weighing their options and considering their opponent carefully. It would not do, to allow this to cause a rift between them; their continued good rapport was imperative for the good of the service.

"How far along is she?" Towers asked after a time. He seemed to feel just as awkward as Harry did, at the personal direction their conversation had taken.

Harry coughed uncomfortably. "Almost six months."

"You know what she's having, then?" Towers prompted.

"A girl. It's a girl."

This earned him another grunt. "Well then, I suppose congratulations are in order, Sir Harry." Towers rose from behind his desk, and extended his hand as a sort of declaration of truce. Harry accepted it willingly.

"Thank you, Home Secretary."

Sensing that he had been dismissed, Harry turned and made his way to the door. Before he could make good his escape, Towers threw one last jibe at his back.

"You really ought to make that woman Lady Pearce, you know."

Harry turned, and offered him a little smile. "Believe me, I'm trying."

* * *

Ruth was waiting in Harry's office when he returned to the Grid. She knew he'd been to see Towers, and she knew it was highly likely that he'd be coming back in a foul mood, but the time had come for them to have a little talk, and she wanted to do it now, before she lost her nerve completely. The discussion she'd had with Beth the week before had been weighing on her mind for days now, and she'd finally reached a decision, regarding her living arrangements once the peanut was born. To prevent anyone seeing her wandering around Harry's office in a mild state of panic she'd preemptively drawn the blinds on his windows, and was currently seated behind his desk, staring at her hands. Ruth was almost positive she'd made the right decision, but there was a part of her that was still consumed with doubt, and likely always would be. Whichever decision she made carried with it the possibility for calamity, and so she'd thought to herself, _I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't,_ and made her choice.

The sound of the door sliding open made her jump slightly, her hand moving on impulse to cradle her swollen belly. That instinctual desire to protect the peanut had been with her since the moment she'd first discovered she was pregnant, only growing stronger as she faced the daily threats of life on the Grid. She wanted her girl safe, and well, and whole, and she knew Harry did, as well.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at her with a faintly amused expression on his face. In all the years that she had known him, Ruth had never seen anyone else sit behind his desk. She herself had done it once before, during the Cotterdam fiasco, pouring over files in his office waiting for his return just as she was doing now.

"Don't get too comfortable there, I'm not out of a job yet," Harry told her with a smile on his face, sliding the door shut behind him.

Ruth was horrified at the very thought. "The last thing I want is your job, Harry," she told him.

"What do you want, then?" he asked, not unkindly.

It would appear that his meeting with the H.S. hadn't ruffled his feathers too badly, and Ruth was duly grateful. Harry in a pleasant mood was a Harry she rather liked.

"I wanted to talk to you about what you asked me. On my birthday."

All traces of mirth left his face in an instant, to replaced with a nervous sort of apprehension. He reminded her forcefully of the way she'd felt at Christmas as a child, opening a present and hoping that her heart's desire was inside, but trying not to hope _too_ much, lest bitter disappointment utterly consume her.

"I take it you've reached a decision?"

Ruth took a deep breath. "I have. I think, if it would be all right with you, it would be best if I…did move in, with you."

For the space of a heartbeat, Harry did not react at all.

 _Oh come on, say something!_ She pleaded with him silently.

Eventually, her words seemed to permeate his brain, and his face lit up with a brilliant smile.

"That's good," he said.

 _Thank God,_ she heard.

That smile was infectious; she could not help but answer him with one of her own, rising creakily to her feet.

"It will be good to have some help with the baby, once she's here, and I'd like for you to spend as much time with her as you can. You're her father, after all."

Harry nodded, still looking vaguely dumbstruck at the very idea.

"Right, well…got work to do," she said rather lamely, and started to make her way out of the office. Harry barred her path with his own bulk, however, reaching out to stop her progress with gentle hands, gripping her upper arms.

"Are you sure?" he asked her seriously, his hazel eyes boring into her and making her stomach churn with barely suppressed emotion. How strange it was, that just a look from him could make her feel so many things at once; affection and fear and hope and doubt, each warring for supremacy inside her.

She nodded. "I'm sure."

His eyes flicked briefly away from her, taking in the closed blinds of his office windows, and it was only that split-second gesture that gave her warning of what he was about to do.

When he leaned in to kiss her, she did not resist, and she did not hesitate.

As their lips met he pulled her close, his hands slipping away from her arms and around her back, one rising up to cradle the back of her head as he drew her in. In return she raised her own hands to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the soft material of his jacket, her lips parting at the insistence of his tongue. For a long moment they lost themselves in one another, hungry and eager as teenagers, their chests flush together and their breaths loud and harsh as the passion between them grew.

Ruth was still afraid. She was still terribly, deeply, horrifically afraid that they would one day ruin one another, but it would not be today. Today she was kissing him, in the relative safety of his office. Today she would embrace her hope, for what they could be together. Today she would take what she was given, and she would not run. Tomorrow would bring what it would, but that was a problem for another day.

Still they kissed, and her desire for him only grew. His hands were wandering across her body now, lighting her up as his lips moved against her own, as the taste and the feel and the warmth of him dragged her under as sure as the ocean tides. With a tinge of regret she pulled them back from the brink; it was the middle of the day, and as much as she might like to, they could not let themselves fall too far, not here, not now. She rested her forehead against his chest and took a few steadying breaths while he ran his hands up and down her back reassuringly.

"We'll have to arrange a nursery," Harry mused quietly.

"Oh God, we will," Ruth groaned. "I'm hopeless at that sort of thing."

Harry leaned back slightly, and caught her chin in his hand, raising her face so he could look into her eyes. He was still smiling, and her heart sang at the sight of him so happy.

"I know we've got a busy week ahead, but why don't you come round to mine on Saturday, so we can start to make some plans?"

Ruth nodded. "I'd like that," she told him sincerely.

He pressed one last, lingering kiss against her, and then stepped away, tugging his jacket back into place and adjusting his tie.

"That's good," he said.

 _I love you,_ she heard.

* * *

After Ruth left, Harry sat as his desk, wondering if he'd done the right thing, not telling her about his conversation with Towers. She would be mortified, he knew, but they could not possibly hope to keep this a secret forever. He would have to tell her eventually, but he couldn't bring himself to do it now, not when he was so close to having everything he'd ever dreamed of, not when she'd looked at him so fondly, not when she'd kissed him so ardently in his office. _Saturday,_ he decided. _We'll talk about it on Saturday._


	29. Chapter 29

On Friday night, Beth and Ruth sat together around their little kitchen table, heaps of Chinese takeaway in front of them and the as yet unnamed cat winding himself around Beth's ankles, mewling pitifully as he demanded a second supper. It had been a rough week for both of them; Beth had spent the last five days undercover at an investment bank, trying to trace the flow of funds into an account linked to a suspected AQ cell, and Ruth had been up to her eyeballs in translations, working the same op from the other side. They'd caught their man, filed their reports, and made it home, if not at a decent hour, at least before they both completely collapsed.

There was something weighing heavily on Beth's mind, a doubt that had been festering for weeks now, and she was wondering if this was the moment to bring her fears to light. Ruth had been so happy, recently; it seemed their conversation last week had done the trick, and Ruth had decided to move in with Harry. The how and the when of it had not yet been decided, but it seemed that Ruth was at peace, now that she had chosen her path, and Beth was convinced that it was the right choice. Harry had a spring in his step, Ruth was smiling again, and the peanut would have both of her parents on hand; surely this was the best situation for everyone involved. It didn't seem right, to intrude on that kind of happiness with the darkness that was growing in the back of Beth's mind, but Ruth knew Harry, knew how he thought, and she was in the best position to offer Beth advice about how to proceed. And besides, Beth's suspicions concerned them all rather directly.

 _Just say it,_ she told herself firmly.

"I'm worried about Lucas."

Ruth sighed heavily and ran a hand over her face, all traces of her prior contentment gone in a flash.

"As am I," she replied.

 _Oh, good,_ Beth thought glumly.

"He hasn't been himself lately," she continued. "He doesn't answer his phone, he's off at all hours doing God knows what, and when he comes back, he's evasive and angry. Well, angrier than normal."

Ruth nodded. "I've noticed the same. There are discrepancies between his reports and the GPS tracking system."

Beth jerked her head up sharply, alarmed. It was one thing for Lucas to go somewhere without telling them, and something else entirely to submit falsified reports. He was their Section Chief; he was supposed to be Harry's right hand, the one person they could all count on. What would they do, if he'd gone rogue? Beth knew more now about what he'd been through, knew the truth of what Ruth had so nonchalantly referred to as a _hiatus_ , and she couldn't help but wonder if his experiences in Russia had damaged him, had left something dark and terrible brooding beneath his surface. Harry trusted him implicitly, she knew, and likely would not hear a word against him, but something had to be done, and quickly, before Lucas spiraled completely out of control.

"What do we do?" she asked in a small voice.

"We tell Harry," Ruth answered firmly. "I had been waiting, until I had more evidence. Harry has a soft spot for Lucas; I think he still feels responsible, for everything that happened to him."

If that was true, Beth couldn't imagine that Harry would react too kindly to their casting aspersions on Lucas's loyalty. Lucas was in a position to do untold harm, however, and they could not let this lie.

"I think it might be better, if you were the one to talk to Harry," Ruth continued, and Beth nearly choked on her wine.

"You're joking," she said once she'd got herself back under control.

"Harry's judgment where I'm concerned is a bit clouded, just now. He'll think I'm paranoid, or worse, he'll accuse me of doubting _him,_ and he'll be so distracted by that he won't take in the full picture. There's too much between us, and he knows I've never really trusted Lucas. If you bring this to his attention, it will make the situation clear. You work more directly with Lucas than I do, and if it appears that Lucas's behavior is erratic enough to draw _your_ attention, it might make Harry sit up and take notice."

"You've never trusted Lucas?" Beth was surprised by that, to say the least. Since joining their team, she'd always felt as if they were divided into two camps, with Harry and Lucas and Ruth and Tariq forming the old guard, and Beth and Dimitri left out in the cold. Over time they had pulled together, but she had always felt there was a certain understanding that existed between their Section Chief and those members of the team who had worked with him for years.

"He saved my life, when we first met," Ruth said quietly, "but at that time, I was still grieving for those we lost in my absence. He wasn't particularly warm, and I always felt as if he were looking at me strangely. These last few weeks, he's been behaving as if he suspects that I know something, and that scares me. If he feels guilty about something, we need to know what it is. It could be an easy fix, or it could be a disaster, and either way we need to be prepared."

"And you want _me_ to talk to Harry?" Beth still couldn't quite believe that this was the right course of action. Harry adored Ruth; surely he would take any accusations about Lucas better, if they came from the woman he loved. Then again, she had chosen to bring this matter to Ruth's attention specifically because she trusted Ruth's judgment where Harry was concerned, and if Ruth thought this was the best way to handle it, she felt she had to agree.

"I do. He may still question your motives, but hearing it from you will force his hand."

 _Wonderful._ The last thing she wanted was to bring Harry's wrath down upon herself, but if it got him to sit up and take notice of Lucas's worrying behavior, she supposed it would be worth it.

"I'll speak to him on Monday, then," Beth reluctantly agreed.

* * *

Ruth knocked on Harry's front door, feeling unduly nervous. Saturday night had arrived, and she had dutifully carted herself off to his, armed with a pen, a small notebook, and a thousand questions.

He opened the door with a smile, stepping aside to let her pass, and as she entered his home, she sighed; whatever Harry was cooking smelled heavenly, and she felt that little bit more at ease.

"What's on the menu, then?" she asked as they walked back into the kitchen together.

"Shepherd's pie," he answered, motioning for her to sit down. The food was already plated and ready, and she took her seat, smiling just a little.

This was one of those delightful things she'd only recently learned about Harry. She had it in her mind to be embarrassed; she recalled with painful clarity the time during his suspension all those years before when she'd arranged to have food parcels delivered to his home, certain he'd survive on nothing but tuna and crisps and Scotch without her intervention. Harry, of course, had never corrected her, and only thanked her sincerely for thinking of him. There had been times, over the last few months, when she'd thought about bringing it up, but she had chosen instead to let it lie, not wanting to dwell on those days when she'd been so consumed with worry for him, and the depth of feeling between them had yet to be acted upon.

They'd certainly acted on it now, she thought, blushing just a little and ducking her head, hoping he wouldn't notice and ask her what was on her mind. They seemed like a dream, those nights she'd spent in Harry's bed. The memories overwhelmed her for a moment, memories of his hands ghosting over her skin, of his breath hot and needy by her ear, of the way her body sang for him, when he buried himself inside her. _Was that really me?_ she wondered. _Was I ever really that brave?_

She had the peanut, as proof that she wasn't just imagining it, that the time they'd spent together was every bit as real as her memories, but still some days it felt like something that had happened to someone else. For two weeks she had been overcome by grief, utterly exhausted, and completely consumed by him, but by the time of Harry's botched proposal, she'd been slowly coming back to her senses, her natural anxiety coming back to the fore, pushing her away from him.

And now she was about to move in with him, about to have a baby with him, and she'd done no more than kiss him for six bloody months. Part of her wanted that passion back, wanted him to take her in his arms and never let her go, and still a part of her wanted to flee from the burden of everything that had happened between them. It would take time, she knew, to reconcile the warring halves of her heart, but she had faith that she could. She had to have faith; the peanut would be with them in just three months' time, and she very much wanted her child to have a family.

"You're thinking awfully loud over there," Harry said softly as he took his seat across from her, and Ruth drew herself back into the present with a start, realizing she'd barely spoken to him since coming into his home.

"Sorry," she apologized quickly, not wanting to go into the details. Harry seemed to understand her reticence to discuss what was going through her mind, and took charge of their conversation himself.

"There's something I need to tell you, before we get started on the nursery," he said. Ruth's heart plummeted; nothing good ever came from a conversation that began in such a way. She took a long sip from the glass of water he'd poured for her, and waited for him to continue.

"Towers knows. About the peanut."

 _Christ._

"I suppose it was only a matter of time," she sighed.

Harry seemed relieved by her reaction to the news; no doubt he'd been expecting her to panic. The truth was, the team had known for three months now, and as the word slowly began to spread throughout their Section Ruth had gradually become accustomed to the fact that people knew about her and Harry. At first she had been mortified, but the whispers had died down, and no one treated her differently, not really. Oh, her junior analysts were forever volunteering to go down to Registry so she wouldn't have to, and female agents she'd never spoken to before were stopping by to ask her how she was feeling, and just yesterday she's had a rather strange conversation with the DG's PA in which the woman had shared her own stories of being hugely pregnant and miserable in the summer time, but overall, none of the horrible things she'd expected had come to pass.

With each passing day her stomach had grown, and she had resigned herself to the fact that everyone would know, eventually. She wasn't particularly bothered that Towers knew, but she was curious as to how he'd reacted. The Home Secretary's response to their little situation would have a direct impact on Harry, and she hoped that that impact would not be a negative one.

"How did he take the news?" she asked.

"He was a bit cross, to be honest, but I think that was mostly just surprise. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was just offended that I didn't tell him myself."

Ruth smiled a little, at that. Harry's hatred of politicians was legendary, but he spoke about Towers with a grudging sort of respect, and they had come to be, if not friends, at least allies after a fashion. As far as Ruth was concerned, Harry needed all the allies he could get.

"He didn't shout or anything, then?"

Harry shook his head, and that was that.

It was surprising, really; Ruth had imagined that revealing their secret to the powers that be might drive a wedge between them, but now that it had happened, she couldn't bring herself to be bothered about it. Towers's irritation would pass in time, and Harry's job was safe. They would carry on, just as they had been doing, and no harm done.

"I've been thinking about paint colors," Harry said after they had eaten in silence for several minutes. "For the nursery."

"Did you reach a decision?" Ruth asked, faintly amused at the image of Harry standing in one of his spare bedrooms with a pile of paint swatches.

"Unfortunately, no. I'm absolutely lost. I was hoping you'd have an idea."

Ruth leaned back in her chair, feeling rather full and rather relaxed after a generous helping of Harry's shepherd's pie.

"Well, I don't want anything too girly. When she's older, if she wants to paint the room pink or purple then I'd be happy to do it, but I hate the idea of forcing her into it that kind of rigid femininity before she's old enough to make that decision."

Harry actually laughed out loud at that. "It's only paint, Ruth."

"No, Harry this is important. I don't want to be the sort of mother who's always making my daughter play with dolls and never lets her have the little trucks, even if she wants them. I don't want her to feel like she has to live up to some kind of bizarre patriarchal expectation-"

Harry raised his hands in surrender. "No pink, then."

For a moment they were quiet. Ruth meant what she'd said; she didn't want to deny the peanut any opportunities just because of her gender. If their little girl wanted dolls she would have them, and if she wanted to play in the dirt, then by God she would play in the dirt, and Ruth would not be swayed on this point.

"How about this then? The walls in there are already white. We can leave them be, and just hang some pictures, for color. Then when she's older, we can paint it any color she likes."

It was a lovely suggestion, not least of all because Harry was assuming that the room in his house would remain the peanut's room, permanently. When he'd asked Ruth to stay with him he'd insisted that it could be on a short-term basis, but he clearly had long-term plans for them, and Ruth rather liked the thought of them in the long-term. Oh, it was terrifying in its own way, thinking about still being with Harry years down the road, but it was comforting, too, to know that he had made a place for their daughter in his life and in his plans for the future.

"I'd like that," Ruth agreed quietly, hoping he understood she was talking about more than just the paint.

"Would like to see the room?" he asked.

As they'd both finished their meals, it seemed now was a good a time as any to proceed with their intended agenda for the evening, so Ruth rose to her feet, and followed Harry up the stairs.

She'd made this trip several times before, but it was different somehow, walking up the stairs with him, not tripping in their haste to remove their clothes but with a rather more domestic sense of purpose. She hadn't explored much, up here; just his bedroom and the en suite. The rest of the house was a mystery to her, and she was looking forward to seeing the room where their child would sleep.

At the top of the landing there were two rooms on the left, and a bathroom on the right, with Harry's room at the end of the short hallway. Harry opened the door to the second room on the left, and ushered Ruth inside.

"This used to be the box room," he said, managing to sound faintly embarrassed by that admission. The room was completely bare now, with pristine white walls and the same dark hardwood floors that could be found throughout the rest of the house. Ruth rather liked this room; situated as it was in a corner of the house, it had two windows to let in the light, and a large closet.

 _This is where our daughter will sleep,_ Ruth thought with a little smile.

"I've made a list," she said, fumbling with the little notebook she'd brought. "Of what I think we'll need."

"Let's hear it then," Harry said, leaning back against the far wall.

"Right. Um, furniture first, then. We'll need a crib, and a changing table, and a little chest of drawers, for her clothes. And I was thinking, it might be nice to get a bassinet. I'd like to keep her in the room with me, just for a few weeks, until we get a feel for how she'll sleep."

Harry nodded. "If she's anything like Catherine was, she'll be up every two hours like clockwork all night long."

Ruth had noticed that whenever Harry spoke about his experiences with his children it was always Catherine he mentioned, and never Graham. It broke her heart, to see him so estranged from his son, and not for the first time she wondered where their relationship had gone so wrong.

"All the more reason to keep her with me, then. I'd rather not have to go too far, when she wakes up in the middle of the night."

"That makes sense. Do you want it all to match? The furniture, I mean."

"I do. And Harry, I want proper, wooden furniture. Nothing that comes in a flat-pack."

Harry chuckled. "I think we can manage that. Oak, or walnut?"

"I quite like cherry, actually."

 _This is the most bizarre conversation,_ Ruth thought, feeling slightly dazed. She was standing in the upstairs of Harry's house, fully clothed for once, talking about furniture. It was just so bloody _normal_ and so shockingly _easy_ , to have this conversation with him. Ruth had been so frightened of this, of the reality of sharing the details of her life with him, but so far, they were doing rather well.

"There's one rather important piece of furniture that's not on your list," Harry mused. Ruth turned her attention back to her notes, skimming over them to see what she could possibly have forgotten. "Luckily," Harry continued, "I've already taken the liberty of purchasing it. Close your eyes."

Ruth stared at him in bewilderment for a moment, but then did as he ordered. She could hear him messing about in the closet, could hear him grunt as though lifting something heavy, could hear the sound of that something heavy dragging against the hardwood floor. _What could it be?_ She wondered, feeling rather excited about the whole thing. Harry had taken the time to clean out his box room and he had already purchased something for the peanut; it seemed every time she turned around he was giving her more evidence of his commitment to her and to their child, and she loved him for it.

"Open your eyes," he said, and she could hear his smile before she saw it.

She turned to look, and saw him standing in the corner beside a beautiful wooden rocking chair. A cherry-wood rocking chair, ornately carved, with soft white cushions and a little matching footstool.

"Oh, Harry," she breathed, tears filling her eyes unbidden. "It's lovely."

"Come on, try it out," he urged, looking as eager as a schoolboy at Christmas, and Ruth happily obliged him, easing herself down onto the chair with a sigh. It was soft, and rocked smoothly with little encouragement. _What do you think, peanut?_ She thought. _Do you like it?_ Ruth didn't like it; she _loved_ it, and as she raised her slightly swollen feet to rest on the little stool, she decided that she was in no mood to get up any time soon.

"This is perfect, Harry," she said, leaning back against the chair and closing her eyes happily.

"I'm glad you like it," he answered. He leaned down, and brushed a gentle kiss against her forehead. "Now, what else is on your list?"

Ruth did not open her eyes; instead she raised the notebook she held in her hands, and passed it off to Harry. He took it, and began to read aloud.

"Pram, nappies, clothes, blankets, car seat…" his voice trailed off as he read the rest of the list in silence. Ruth didn't need to hear it all again; she was the one who'd written it down in the first place, after all.

"What about bottles?" Harry asked when he reached the end of the list. "I mean are you planning to…"

Ruth still had her eyes closed, enjoying the comforts of the new rocking chair, but she reached up and handed him the pen she still clutched in her fingers. "I am planning to breastfeed, if I can, but we'll still need bottles."

She could hear the sound of the pen scratching as Harry dutifully added bottles to the list.

"And one of those…erm…pump, things?"

How typically Harry, she thought, struggling not to laugh. He was always so _proper_ with her; even now, he couldn't quite bring himself to say the word _breast_ in her presence.

"And a breast pump, yes. Oh, and a rug. We'll definitely want a rug in here."

"This is rather a long list," he mused as he wrote _rug_ on the page.

"We haven't left it too late, have we?" Ruth asked, opening her eyes as her anxiety reared its ugly head again.

"No, of course not. We'll find the time, Ruth. We'll _make_ the time." His tone was firm and reassuring, and Ruth drew comfort from his confidence. "I've got to work next weekend, but I'll set aside the next Saturday, and we can get a start on the furniture, at least."

Ruth dragged herself to her feet, pressing her knuckles into the small of her back, trying to relive some of the tension there. For a moment she surveyed the room, trying to imagine all the things on their list in this space, and a baby there besides. So far they had avoided the question of where Ruth would be sleeping, and she was somewhat relieved by that. She could only imagine how uncomfortable that conversation would be, and the evening had been going so well. Now that she was thinking about it, though, she couldn't _stop_ thinking about. Did she want to sleep in the spare bedroom? Did Harry want that? Should she ask him, or should they just _let it all crinkle out?_

"This can work, can't it? You and me and the peanut, here, together?" she asked him in a small voice.

Harry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and Ruth folded herself into his embrace, burying her face in the crook of his neck and breathing in the familiar scent of him, a pleasure she'd long denied herself.

"Of course this can work," he said reassuringly, his hands warm and soft as they rubbed comforting circles across her back. "You'll see."

His proximity was making her dizzy; for once they were completely alone, not stealing a moment on the Grid or looking over their shoulders for Ruth's well-meaning flatmate, and the reality of the situation was not lost on her. If he kissed her now, she'd have no reason to stop them from going any farther, and she found she wouldn't want to. In fact, the idea of going farther than a kiss was starting to sound rather appealing the longer he held her body so close to his own.

Something seemed to shift in the air between them, as if they'd both realized the possibility of where this embrace might take them at the same moment, and Ruth leaned back in his arms, her eyes searching his face. What she found there was a desire that mirrored her own, and she smiled, the moment before his lips touched hers.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Shenanigans ahead! This chapter is rated M.**

* * *

Once again, Ruth found herself pressed back against the wall, kissing Harry as if her life depended on it. He had one hand on her bum, kneading her soft flesh and drawing low, desperate whimpers from her mouth. With the other hand he cradled her cheek, drawing her as close to him as possible while his tongue delved deeply into her mouth and sent shivers of want coursing up and down her spine. She was bowled over by him, and by her reaction to him; with trembling hands she pulled his shirt free from his trousers, and pressed the tips of her fingers against the warm, smooth skin of his back.

The moment her hands touched his skin, she was reminded of another kiss, six months and a lifetime ago, in this very house.

 _Harry was kissing her in a way she'd never known before, desperation radiating off of him as he clung to her and she drowned in him. It had started so quickly, so innocuously; Ruth had volunteered to wash their plates, after supper, and Harry had walked up behind her, whispered, "leave them," and pulled her into his arms. All the times she had dreamt of his kiss, she'd never imagined it would happen like this, both of them exhausted and devastated and falling back against the sink in their rush to get their hands on one another._

Harry's mouth trailed away from hers, giving her a moment to breathe; he dropped small, nipping kisses along the line of her jaw, heading for her neck, and Ruth did not try to stop him. She kept one hand on his back, under his shirt, and with the other she reached up to wind her fingers through his adorably shaggy hair, holding him close against her skin.

 _In all her imaginings, he had never been this gentle. She gazed at him in wonder, as he pulled himself back from her, his eyes seeming to ask, "are you sure?" Ruth gave him a little nod, and when he extended his trembling hand to her, she accepted it willingly._

"Not here," Ruth gasped, when she felt Harry's hand migrate from her bum to the back of her thigh; he'd started to raise her leg, as if he intended to take her right there against the wall, and as much as she might have enjoyed that six months ago, right now she very much wanted a bed. Harry raised his head, ceasing his ravishing of her neck to look into her eyes as he asked, "Bedroom?"

Ruth nodded, and they slowly disentangled themselves from one another, Harry sliding his hand down her arm until their fingers tangled together. He led her from the nursery, her heart beating against her chest like a little bird in a cage, frightened and hopeful and longing to be free.

 _She saw nothing of his bedroom; by the time they crossed the threshold, she was back in his arms, enveloped in his scent and the softness of his hands as they learned the contours of her body. Harry seemed hell-bent on taking his time, and she was more than willing to let him. It should have been scary, taking this step after so many years of denial, after so many horrible mistakes, but Ruth's rational side had deserted her. Harry was here, snaking his hand beneath her blouse to follow the length of her spine, and she could not think. She could only feel, and what she felt was love._

Once they were inside his room, Harry pulled her to him once again. The room was dim, the lights turned off and the shades drawn, but Ruth didn't need to see him. All she needed, in this moment, was to feel him, to feel his skin beneath her hands and his lips on her body, wherever he chose to put them. He kissed her urgently, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth and holding it there until she mewled in protest. He released her, and soothed her swollen lip with his tongue while she started unbuttoning his shirt, eager to feel his skin pressed against her own.

 _Once they were naked, Harry lowered her slowly to the bed, keeping his mouth pressed firmly against her own until the last moment, when he drew back to look at her. He did not speak; he looked as if words were quite beyond him. There were dark circles under her eyes and the lines around her mouth and eyes were tight and drawn from two solid days of grief and worry, but when he looked at her, Ruth knew he thought her beautiful, and she almost cried, at the open wonder in his expression._

Having successfully undone all his buttons, Ruth slid Harry's shirt from his shoulders, and withdrew from his kiss, to lavish attention on his chest instead. She'd always loved his chest, broad and strong and solid as a rock, despite the paunch of middle age he'd developed around his middle. There were scars there, invisible in the faint light, but she had traced this path with her tongue often enough to map them out with her eyes closed. She picked them out, one by one, brushing his skin with her lips and feeling him shudder in pleasure beneath her kiss.

 _He loomed over her, dropping little kisses across the sharp lines of her collarbones, his broad hands clasped around her waist, making her feel small and delicate and cherished beyond measure._

She felt him take hold of the hem of her blouse, no doubt intending to begin divesting her of her clothes as she had done to him, and the reality of the situation came crashing in on her. It wasn't that she wanted them to stop; she could not think of anything she wanted less. It was just that she was suddenly so nervous; she remembered the way he'd looked at her, the way he'd held her, all those months before, but her body was so _different_ now. Her belly had grown, and her skin showed stretch marks where before it had been smooth and unblemished. What if he looked at her, and did not think her as beautiful as she had been, before? Her heart broke, at the very idea, and she buried her face against his chest, hiding herself from his sight as if it would be so simple, to keep her fears from him.

"Ruth," he said softly, "look at me."

She shook her head.

"Ruth," he tried again, his voice low and practically dripping with affection. "I _want_ to see you. I _need_ to see you."

After a long moment, she gathered her courage, and took a step away from him. She looked him in the eye, drawing hope from the certainty she found there, and removed the blouse herself.

 _He dragged his lips across her chest, her hips bucking up towards him involuntarily as he closed his mouth around one taut, dusky pink nipple. His every move was so slow, so deliberate, and Ruth felt herself falling, falling, falling into him._

Harry did not speak. His gaze followed the lines of her body, wonder etched across the creases of his face, and it gave her the confidence to slip out of her skirt as well, so that she stood before him in her bra and knickers, the changes in her shape on full display. He reached out with one trembling hand, and traced the shape of her belly, from top to bottom and back again, coming to a stop with his palm pressed flat against the curve of her bump.

"You're amazing," he said in a husky whisper, and Ruth just laughed.

"Kiss me," she demanded, and he breathlessly obeyed.

 _It felt like hours, since this had begun, and still Harry was lingering in the valley of her breasts, his kisses light and gentle and never ending. Ruth threaded the fingers of one hand through his hair, and with the other she traced the curve of his shoulders, her mind empty of every thought save for him._

As they kissed Harry nudged her back towards the bed, his fingers fumbling with the clasp of her bra, her hands deftly pulling his belt free from his trousers. When they reached the edge of the mattress she turned from him, shimmying out of her remaining clothes and stretching out on the bed, gloriously naked and miraculously happy, waiting for him. As quickly as he could he rid himself of trousers and trunks, and Ruth felt a little shiver of anticipation run through her at the sight of his cock, hard and straining for her.

" _Christ, Harry," Ruth moaned as his mouth lingered on her left breast and the fingers of his right hand slipped through her dripping folds. He thrust two fingers inside her, slowly, so slowly, and her heart nearly stopped, as she begged him to continue, to finish what he started. Still he did not change his pace, forcing her to wait, his touch teasingly soft, so tender that just thought of it brought tears to her eyes, later._

Harry slid over her, his hands cupping her slightly larger breasts carefully, feeling their weight, no doubt comparing them to his recollections of her, and she sighed happily at his touch. He brushed his thumbs across her nipples and she trembled.

"Gently, please," she said, shocked by how breathless her own voice sounded. Her nipples were sensitive, these days; sometimes even the fabric of her bra brushing against her skin was more than she could bear. Harry just nodded, and replaced his hands with his mouth, feathering kisses along the curve of her breast.

" _Harry," she was almost crying, now; he'd brought her to orgasm not once but twice, and still she had not felt him inside her. She hadn't known that she could_ do _that, but Harry had known somehow, had taken his time, almost as if he wanted to prove that he could. It felt as if they'd been in this bed for days, as if the world outside had ceased to be, and she never, ever wanted this to end._

Ruth reached down between them at almost the same moment that Harry began to drag his hand down over the curve of her belly, and they smiled shyly at one another, when they realized what was happening. Harry's fingers brushed through her damp curls as her own hand curled around the thickness of his shaft, and for a time they let their hands lead them, reacquainting themselves with one another as they shivered and moaned, pressed as close together as they could manage.

" _Now,_ " _she said, and Harry nodded in assent. Her thighs were already spread wide open for him, and he slid home with a groan. Her body was still on fire from his earlier ministrations, and she very nearly came again, when he thrust his full length deep inside her for the first time. This was Harry, bare and beautiful beneath her hands, this was Harry, touching her so intimately, this was Harry, making love to her in the middle of a terrible night._

"This isn't working," Ruth protested after a moment.

Harry pulled back from her, the fear in his eyes so plain that it nearly broke her heart to see it. Wanting to quell those fears, Ruth reached out and drew his face down to hers for another kiss.

"I just meant, my stomach's in the way. I feel like I can't get close enough to you."

This earned her a beautiful, brilliantly relieved smile. Harry kissed the tip of her nose, and wrapped his arms around her.

"I have an idea."

" _Please, Harry, please," she gasped, but he would not be deterred. His thrusts were long and slow and deep, and she felt as if she were about to fly apart. This was a feeling such as Ruth had never known, a need so primal and so all-encompassing that she had lost herself completely inside it. Always in the past sex had taken a lot of concentration and a lot of persuasion for her to enjoy it, but this was beyond sex. This was something else, something amazing, something…wonderful._

Harry rolled them onto their sides, Ruth in front, Harry pressed flat against the plane of her back, his cock nudging against her bum insistently. He had one hand wrapped around her breast and one hand between her legs; he'd eased her thigh back, wrapping her leg around his own so she was open and ready for him. Gently, ever so gently, he brushed his fingertips across her clit while he pressed warm, soft kisses to the back of her neck, and she sighed in bliss.

"Please, Harry," she whispered, as she felt one of his fingers slide through her folds.

"Please, what?" he asked, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

"I want you inside me," she answered. Dirty talk had never been her forte, and she wasn't saying those words to enflame him; she wanted him, and she wanted him _now._

 _When he finally let her come again, she actually screamed. She'd always thought that was a myth created for porn films, women who screamed in the moment of their pleasure, but she'd never had a man make love to her like this before. Her whole body seized up, the moment her orgasm washed over, and she felt her inner muscles clamp down on his cock like a vise, felt him tumble over the edge with her, felt his satisfied groan rumbling through her chest._

With one smooth thrust Harry's cock slid home, and she moaned, arching her back against him. _God_ , but this felt good, his arms wrapped around her, his body anchoring her, enveloping her. He sensed her urgency, and he did not make her wait, this time; he set a hard, heavy pace, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of her breast, rubbing her clit in time to his thrusts.

 _For a long time she lay shuddering beneath him, unable to open her eyes, barely able to breathe. After all that, she had no idea how he was still holding himself upright, but somehow he found the strength to keep most of his weight off of her. Her inner walls were still clamped down hard around his rapidly deflating cock, as if she never intended to let him go._

 _His face was buried in the crook of her shoulder, and she almost couldn't hear him when he spoke._

" _Don't ever leave me," he whispered._

" _Never," she answered just as softly, wrapping her arms around his back and drawing him down to her._

She was panting in time to his thrusts, every move of his hips tearing the breath from her lungs, until finally it all became too much, and she tumbled over the edge, whimpering. Two more thrusts, and Harry was coming, too, his reaction as reserved as hers had been, but no less profound. They were quieter this time than they had been when they first came together all those months before, but the feeling was just as great, the bond between them just as strong. Harry cradled her in his arms, and she felt peace, for the first time since she'd left his bed. He kissed the back of her neck, his hands gentle on her skin, and she smiled, laying her head down, breathing in the scent of him, of them that lingered on the sheets.

Whatever happened next would happen, and no stopping it. For now, Ruth was right where she belonged, and she had no intention of leaving the comfort of his embrace.


	31. Chapter 31

Harry woke slowly, well before the alarm, uncertain as to what exactly had pulled him out of his dreams. Beside him Ruth was sleeping peacefully, lying on her back, her dark haired splayed out across his white pillowcases. It created a halo of sorts for her sweet face, the lines of worry and pain that often framed her features smoothed and almost invisible as she rested. He was lying half on his side, his left hand resting on the swell of her stomach beneath the duvet, where it had apparently been for most of the night.

For so many months he had dreamt of this, of waking up beside her again, and for so many months he had told himself that it was foolish to even hope for such a thing. Yet here she was, in his bed, and he was already half-hard just remembering the way they'd come together the night before. As he watched her sleeping, he smiled just a little, and words came to him unbidden, a memory surfacing from the recesses of his mind.

" _Favorite work by Shakespeare?" she asked him as they lay together in his bed, her eyes trained on their fingers, intertwined and resting against the smooth skin of her bare stomach. As she waited for his answer she released her grip on him, and traced each of his fingers with the tips of her own._

" _The Tempest," he answered, leaning forward to brush a kiss against her temple._

" _Yours?"_

 _She shook her head, blushing. How she could still manage to blush, when she was lying in his bed with his seed drying slowly on her thighs, he would never know._

" _You'll laugh," she said._

" _Tell me," he insisted, shifting their hands so he was gripping her tightly, smiling encouragingly at her all the while._

 _For a moment he thought she wasn't going to answer, that she had once again retreated so far inside herself that he would never find her again._

" _Much Ado," she told him in a little voice._

"I do love nothing in the world so well as you," he murmured softly now, as he had wanted to do then. "Is that not strange?"

Ruth's eyes were still closed, her breathing still soft and even, and yet, apparently, she was not so deeply asleep as he'd thought. She raised one hand, to cover his own where it rested protectively around her bump.

"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest," she replied in a voice low and thick from sleep.

Harry's heart was pounding madly in his chest; for years he'd wanted to tell her how he felt, had struggled to find the right moment, the right words, and now he had apparently gone and done it quite by accident. That she had repeated the sentiment seemed no less miraculous, yet still he doubted; they were only quoting lines from the Bard at one another, reenacting her favorite scene from her favorite play in the pre-dawn darkness, and she looked to be half-asleep still. Was this moment everything he hoped it was, or just another opportunity for miscommunication between the pair of them?

They were both of them saved from the agony of having to explain themselves by the timely intervention of the peanut. Beneath their joined hands, their daughter gave a tremulous little kick, and all of Harry's doubts vanished in an instant, to be replaced only by wonder.

"Did you feel it?" Ruth asked him, turning her head on the pillow to fix him with an excited, affectionate gaze.

Harry nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

The peanut kicked again, and Harry held his breath, spellbound. There was a baby in there, sheltered in the warmth and quiet of Ruth's body, and the reality of that never ceased to astound and humble him. They were two broken, burnt-out spooks, world-weary and distrusting of everyone and everything, sometimes even each other, and yet somehow, they had managed to come together and create this new life between them. This small, fragile thing, their little peanut, binding them together, forcing them to push past the horrible things they'd done to each other, for each other.

"She really needs a name, you know," he said, just to have something to say; the weight of the moment had grown too much to bear. Waking to find her in his bed, his unintentional declaration of love, the peanut's reassertion that she really was there, after all; it was more than he thought either of them could take, just now.

"I know," Ruth sighed. Still her fingers danced with his, beneath the duvet, and Harry was enchanted by her, lying beside him calm and still, for once. "There are just too many options."

"I quite like Sophia," he mused, brushing her skin with the tips of his fingers.

"It wasn't originally a name, did you know that?" Ruth asked him, her eyes far away as she recalled something from her studies long ago. " _Sophia,_ I mean. It's a noun, the idea of wisdom. In some early texts it's used to refer specifically to the wisdom of God, an all-encompassing, all-knowing attribute beyond what man can achieve on his own. Hagia Sophia, for example, literally means _Holy Wisdom;_ the church was dedicated to _Logos,_ one of the pillars of the Holy Trinity."

Harry's head was spinning, slightly.

"So does that mean you like it?" he asked, confused and utterly enchanted by her. Was there nothing this woman didn't know?

"I'm not sure," she answered, and she sound so genuinely befuddled that he laughed aloud.

"We'll come up with something," he said.

He leaned over and kissed her then, his left hand still tangled with hers, his right hand cradling the back of her head. Ruth responded to him enthusiastically, her tongue dancing with his as the passion that had swept them away the night before rebounded between them. For a long time, he lost himself in the warmth of her body and the stillness of the morning, and when they came together again, she sighed his name in bliss, and his heart sang to hear it.

* * *

 _Everything all right?_

Ruth frowned down at her phone, reading the text Beth had sent her late last night. She'd never thought to warn Beth that she wasn't coming back, and she didn't really know how to respond now that she'd left the message unanswered for all this time. Beth knew where she'd gone, and she probably knew exactly why Ruth hadn't come home, but this was all so new to Ruth and she wasn't sure of the etiquette involved. It had been a long, long time since she'd had a friend, and longer still since she'd had one she was comfortable talking to about things like this, personal things. Relationship things.

 _Fine. Didn't mean to worry you,_ she texted back, before quickly dropping her phone back in her purse, and wandering off to join Harry in the kitchen. As she walked she fancied she could still feel him on her skin, could identify every place where he had touched her, and she treasured that feeling, that tangible reminder of everything that had passed between them, last night and then again this morning.

"There's some toast on the table," he said, never turning his attention away from the stove. She thought she'd been quiet, but Harry had been a spook much longer than she had; perhaps he had other ways of sensing when someone was near. "And there will be bacon, too, in just a few minutes."

"And you've made tea," she said, smiling as she discovered a mug of her favorite herbal tea sitting on the table, ready and waiting for her. She took a sip of tea, and a bite of toast, and still her smile did not dim. So far they had spent a lovely, lazy Sunday morning in one another's company, and Ruth found there was nowhere else she wished to be, just now.

 _I do love nothing in the world so well as you._

The words echoed in her mind, Harry's voice so warm and kind as he spoke to her. She wasn't entirely sure what happened in that moment, as she'd drifted quietly somewhere between dreams and wakefulness, Harry's hands gentle on her skin and words of love falling from his lips. _Had he meant it?_ She wasn't sure. _Did I mean it, when I replied?_ That question at least she had the answer to. Yes, she loved him, with her whole heart, more than she could stand. _Does he know that_? She still wasn't sure, and she had no idea how to find out.

"Here you are," Harry said, sliding a few slices of bacon out of the hot pan and directly onto her plate, startling her out of her reverie.

"This looks wonderful, Harry, thank you," she told him, taking another bite of toast before tucking into the bacon with a will. She was always hungry, these days.

"I thought it was my turn, to cook you breakfast," he answered.

Ruth almost choked on her bacon.

There had only been a handful mornings, before, when they'd woken with enough time to eat a proper breakfast in one another's company, and each time, Ruth had cooked, delighting in the normalcy of it and in the way Harry's hungry gaze would follow her as she flounced around his kitchen in his shirt. Right this moment she was once again wearing one of his shirts, unwilling to slide back into all the layers she'd been wearing when she arrived the night before. The shirt didn't hang quite as loosely on her now as it had done before, but she still saw appreciation in his eyes when he looked at her, and she still faintly glowed at the thought that he wanted her, after everything, after all this time. That he would bring up those precious moments they'd spent together before shocked her; she thought that they had decided to ignore their previous attempt at romance, and thus skirt around the devastation that was their falling out. Yet he had not flinched from it, had been nonchalant as he brought up this heavy, unspoken thing between them, and Ruth had no idea how to respond.

"If you're feeling up to it," Harry said, carrying on as if nothing happened, "I thought we might pop round to the shops today. Maybe we won't pick up any furniture, yet, but we can buy a few other little things. The more we do now, the less we have to do later."

Ruth nodded, still thrown by his earlier comment, still trying to navigate the murky waters of their relationship that threatened to capsize her at every turn.

"I think that would be nice," she said.

* * *

When Ruth came home, it was half-past seven, and she looked dead on her feet. She collapsed on the couch beside Beth, propping her feet up on the coffee table and leaning back against the cushions, closing her eyes and sighing in relief.

"All right, there?" Beth asked, not even trying to hide her amusement. When she'd woken this morning to discover that Ruth hadn't made it home, she'd felt a triumphant sort of exultation. There was only one reason she could think of, for Ruth to go off to dinner with Harry and not come home again, and as much as she didn't want to even attempt to contemplate the specifics of what may or may not have happened between them, Beth was overjoyed on Ruth's behalf. As far as she was concerned, they deserved to be happy, and it seemed to her that the best way to make Harry and Ruth happy was to put them together, and let them be. So she had not pushed for details; she had asked for confirmation that Ruth was all right, she had received it, and she had left them to go about their lives in peace.

Now Ruth was home, and it was apparent that she was both exhausted ( _ew_ ) and happy ( _thank God_ ). It was almost enough to distract Beth from the unpleasantness of the conversation she knew she'd have to have with Harry tomorrow.

"We bought some things, for the peanut," Ruth said, her eyes still closed as she rested. "Little clothes, and a car seat. And a pram."

"That's exciting," Beth said, just to have something to say. Beth herself had picked up a few things as well; she gone round to M & S a few weeks before, and somehow she'd wound up leaving with a sweet little outfit, and a soft fleecy blanket, and a tiny stuffed elephant. She'd tucked the baby things away in the closet, beside the boxes of Ruth's former life, having determined to wait to give them to Ruth until just before the baby came. Beth hadn't forgotten Ruth's earlier terror, about the baby she'd lost, and she had adopted some of that fear as her own. What would they do, if something happened to the peanut? It didn't bear thinking about, and so the gift would wait.

"There's so much still to do," Ruth mused. "But it feels good to have at least some of the shopping done. Even if we don't have any idea what to call her."

"Hmm," Beth mused. "Call her Elizabeth," she suggested after a moment with a playful grin. Her attempt at levity failed rather spectacularly; Ruth's eyes flew open, but she did not turn to look at Beth. She looked rather sad, staring down at her hands clasped together in her lap.

"That's my mother's name," she said quietly.

 _God, Bailey, you are such an arse,_ Beth admonished herself. Only a few weeks ago Ruth had gone down to see her mother, and come back in tears, having learned that her mother was slowly losing her memories, and that the time for a true reconciliation may well have passed them by. And Beth had gone and brought it up, right when things were starting to look up for Ruth.

"I think I'll make some tea," Ruth said, mostly to herself, and with that she heaved herself up and off the couch, leaving a very contrite Beth kicking herself on the couch.

* * *

"Harry? Do you have a moment?" Beth leaned around the corner of his door, her heart hammering in her chest. The time had come to have what promised to be an incredibly uncomfortable conversation, but Ruth had given her a little nudge and an encouraging smile, and there was nothing left to do but just get on with it.

"For you, Miss Bailey, I have two," Harry answered in a whimsical tone of voice. He'd been in a fantastic mood today, but for once that didn't offer Beth any sort of reassurance. She was certain that he was happy because Ruth had stayed the night with him on Saturday, happy that they had gone and done couple-y things together on Sunday, and she knew with equal certainty that what she was about to say would spell the end of any residual joviality he might be feeling.

As she slid the door closed behind her Harry's eyes narrowed somewhat; no doubt he could sense that she was not the bearer of glad tidings.

"I have some concerns," Beth said slowly, "about Lucas."

Harry did not answer. He steepled his fingers together on his desk-top, and fixed her with a steely gaze.

"He's been acting strangely, the last few weeks. He's not answering calls, he's ducking out at all hours and refuses to tell me where he's gone, and…and Ruth believes he's been submitting false reports."

"Does she?" Harry asked in a soft, cold voice. Beth realized too late that she'd made a grave error, in mentioning Ruth's concerns. The whole point of her bringing this to Harry's attention was to keep Ruth out of it, to keep Harry's head level, and she'd buggered it up at the first hurdle.

"There are several instances of his GPS not matching up with the location he's given in his reports," Beth answered, tucking her trembling hands in her pockets to hide her nerves.

"And why is it you're telling me this, instead of Ruth?"

"Because I'm worried, Harry. He hasn't been himself lately. He's been evasive, and cold-"

"You're forgetting, Miss Bailey, that Lucas is your Section Chief, and as such, he does not answer to you." Harry was one of those rare men who could be more terrifying when they were calm than when they were in a rage. His steady, steely voice sent shivers down Beth's spine, and she was sharply reminded of just how little she knew about him, and what he was capable of. Perhaps seeing him behave so gently toward Ruth had blinded Beth to the fierce reality of him, but she saw the reality now, saw his ruthlessness, and she was suddenly afraid.

Afraid, and furious, that he would doubt her, that he wasn't even willing to consider the truth of her words.

"But he does answer to you," Beth pressed, her anger making her careless. "Something's not right with him, and you're the only person who can find out what it is."

For a moment there was only silence, as Harry surveyed her and her doubts grew.

Finally, he spoke. "That will be all, Miss Bailey," he said curtly, cutting short any further explanations she might have given him. Beth was fuming, but it was clear that Harry would allow no further arguments from her. She nodded, turned on her heel, and stormed away, leaving Harry staring darkly after her.

"That was quick," Ruth said in surprise as Beth approached her desk. Beth threw herself down into her chair, not wanting to risk a glance at Ruth, knowing the confusion, the worry she'd find there, and knowing it would be enough to send her off into a rant. She could not find the words to explain what had just happened; she could only hope that Ruth would recognize her fury, and understand its cause.


	32. Chapter 32

Ruth's anxiety had been growing steadily all day, as Harry sequestered himself in his office and Beth pouted behind her desk. Neither of them had spoken to her about what had transpired during their earlier meeting, but the outcome of that little conference was readily apparent to Ruth, who knew them both so well. Before now, she'd truly believed that having Beth deliver the news would be the best course of action, but it was plain that Harry had responded to her concerns with nothing but contempt. And now it seemed that it would fall to Ruth to smooth his ruffled feathers, yet again.

Ordinarily, she could calm Harry with a look, a touch, a murmur of his name; she would reach out to him, and he would immediately relax, taking a moment to reconsider whatever rash action he'd been planning. With stunning clarity she recalled the night of the bombing, when just the pressure of her hand on his shoulder had been enough to storm the hurricane of turmoil he'd lost himself inside. She wasn't sure it would be that simple, this time.

This morning she had woken full of a guarded sort of hope, feeling as if she finally knew where she stood with Harry, as if they finally had a chance to be together, properly. And this afternoon she was afraid again, glancing toward his office and finding only drawn blinds and a towering wall of resentment. Did he know the part she'd played, in sending Beth to talk to him? Would he be furious with her, for not coming to him sooner? Would he ever be able to look past his own guilt and consider the matter of Lucas objectively? She didn't know, and she was running out of time.

With a deep breath, she rose from her desk, and made her way over to Harry's office. She hesitated by the door; should she knock? Ordinarily the thought wouldn't even cross her mind. She'd enjoyed the privilege of storming into his office uninvited for years, much to the consternation and confusion of the junior officers who couldn't even begin to understand everything that had passed between her and Harry. If she knocked now, it would feel almost like an admission of guilt on her part, would only serve to put up defenses between them before she'd ever even spoken, and she couldn't bear the thought of distancing herself from him when she'd only just rediscovered the intimacy of his embrace. On the other hand, she had no idea what she'd find, once she opened that door, and she was frightened of the possibilities.

 _Don't do this,_ she told herself, and without further consideration she slid the door open, stepped into his office, and closed it again.

Harry was seated behind his desk; he jumped, at the sound of the door opening, but whatever obscenity he'd been about to shout died on his lips when he caught sight of her. He fairly vibrated with anger, and Ruth stayed well away from him, her back pressed against the door for much needed support.

"I suppose you've come to tell me to keep a level head, then," Harry said coolly, his eyes flinty and harder than she had seen them for quite some time.

"Not exactly," she answered carefully.

"Christ, Ruth, what were you thinking? Sending that girl in here to do your dirty work-"

" _That girl_ is an experienced operative and a member of your team," Ruth bit back. "She has genuine concerns, and the least you can do is listen to her."

"I did listen to her," Harry answered, his anger only growing. "She talked, I listened, end of story."

"Harry-"

"Do you really have so little faith in me, Ruth? She told me you think Lucas has been submitting falsified reports. Why am I only hearing this now, and from _Beth_ of all people?"

 _Damn it, Beth,_ Ruth thought glumly. She couldn't help feeling a little resentment toward her flatmate just then, for dragging her name into this before she was ready to face him. It passed quickly however; this wasn't Beth's fault, and Ruth knew it.

"You need to know it's not just me who's worried, Harry," Ruth insisted. "Lucas is-"

"Lucas is none of your concern," he cut her off, turning away from her in a silent gesture of dismissal.

 _And damn you, too, Harry._

"It is my concern," she spat, pushing off from the door and crossing the room to stand in front of his desk. She would not be cast aside so easily; who did he think she was?

"Lucas has proven his loyalty, time and time again," Harry said, still doggedly refusing to look at her.

"If he's so bloody loyal, then surely he'll have a good explanation when you ask him what he's been up to."

Harry stood up, fury etched across his face, but she barreled on, heedless.

"What about Tessa, Harry? Or Connie James? Juliet?"

"Don't you mention that bloody woman to me!" He all but shouted. Ruth blanched; she was fairly certain that the team could hear him through the thin walls of his office.

"Something is wrong, Harry," she said, deliberately lowering her voice, hoping he would moderate his own in turn.

"And what would you have me do, Ruth?" Her ploy worked; he was still seething, but at least he wasn't shouting. "Spy on him? That man spent eight years in a Russian cell, and I did nothing-"

"You got him out," she protested.

"Eight years too late. Do you know the first thing he wanted to do, when I brought him home? He wanted fish and chips. He didn't want a shower, or fresh clothes, or a real bed to sleep in. He wanted fish and chips." His voice was soft now, soft and sad and contemplative, and she knew what he was trying to say. That in this one request, he had sensed just how homesick Lucas had been, had absorbed some of the man's pain as his own.

"And you made sure he got them, Harry," she replied. Ruth knew the story well; he'd told her one night while he rested within the circle of her arms, safe in the quiet of his bedroom. "We don't know what's happening now, but we can't afford to sit idly by while he-"

"While he what, Ruth? What is it you think he's doing?"

For a long moment she did not speak. She thought about a junior analyst called Steven Owen, currently rotting away at Her Majesty's pleasure, and she remembered Lucas's strange, frigid reaction to the news. She thought about strained conversations and a questioning gaze held a moment too long. She thought about Harry, flagellating himself for eight years over a mistake that was beyond his own control.

"I don't know, Harry, and that scares me."

It was his turn to ruminate for a while. She watched the play of emotions across his face, watched the doubt and the self-loathing and the grief wash over him in turns. Though he would never express his feelings in this way, it had always seemed to Ruth that Harry was something of a father-figure to his team; their safety, their very survival depended on him, and he took full responsibility for each of them. Every injury, every betrayal, every loss was a blow to him, though some stung more deeply than others. He thought he'd finally made things right, with Lucas, and now here came Ruth, upsetting the apple-cart, warning him that his prodigal son might well be a wolf in sheep's clothing.

 _You're mixing your metaphors,_ she chided herself.

"What would you have me do, Ruth?" Harry asked finally. This time his question wasn't rhetorical; he was genuinely asking for her opinion, and she was tremendously grateful.

"Put a keystroke-logger on his computer," she answered immediately. "Don't approach him right away, not until we have a better idea what we're dealing with. If there's something bigger going on, Lucas may not be the only one involved, and we don't want to poke the hornets' nest until we're ready."

Harry sighed, and sat back down at his desk. "Can you do that without involving any other members of the team?"

Ruth nodded.

"Can you do it today?"

"I can. He's in the field until tomorrow."

"All right, then." Harry's shoulders had slumped in defeat, and Ruth sensed that what he needed most now was a moment to himself. She would leave him to his thoughts, but there was something she needed to ask him first.

"Harry?" she said in a quiet voice.

He looked up, the pain in his eyes palpable.

"Have dinner with me tonight?"

For a moment she thought he might refuse. She'd been thinking about it since she'd left his home on Sunday evening; this thing between them was growing, shifting, solidifying into something real, and she wanted to pursue it. They had done well so far, during the time they'd spent together off the Grid, but she was preparing to move into his house, and she wanted to see more of him, not just on weekends when the pressure of work was lessened, but during the week, too. She wanted to know that they could survive, together, even when their lives interfered. And she very much wanted to fall asleep in his arms again, sooner rather than later.

"I'd like that," he said. He didn't smile; she wasn't sure he could, just now. But he had agreed, and that was enough for her. She reached out, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze before making her departure.

* * *

Beth flinched, when she heard Harry shouting at Ruth. She hated the part she had played in their falling out, and her mind was awash with a million consequences of her rash words. But Harry's voice had faded, and moments later Ruth had appeared, and Beth could have sworn her flatmate was smiling, just a little. Ruth did not speak to Beth about what had transpired in Harry's office, and the not knowing was eating away at her. Were they going to do anything about Lucas? Was Harry going to give her the sack (again)?

No answers were forthcoming from Ruth. She fiddled around with Lucas's computer for a few minutes, and then went back to her own desk. _What are you up to?_ Beth wondered. She dared not ask; if Ruth wanted her to know, she would have said something herself.

The last thirty minutes of the day dragged by, curiosity and anxiety gnawing away at Beth as she stared unseeing at her computer screen. And then something rather odd happened.

Harry stepped out from inside his office for the first time all day, and, like always, Ruth's head jerked up as if she'd sensed his presence on the Grid. Ruth had an uncanny knack for turning to Harry, wherever he was, whatever she was doing, and Beth always chuckled a little to herself every time it happened. This time, though, Harry stopped for a moment by the pods, and Ruth caught her lip between her teeth. She shut down her computer, gathered up her things, and murmured, "I'll see you later," to Beth. And just like that, she and Harry left the Grid. Together.

 _Thank God,_ Beth thought.


	33. Chapter 33

Once again, Ruth found herself sitting at Harry's kitchen table. This time he had elected not to cook, stopping instead on their way home to pick up a Chinese takeaway. She picked at her food disinterestedly, watching the silent man sitting across the table from her and wondering what on earth was going through his mind.

Things hadn't exactly gone to plan today, and though she knew Harry wasn't cross with her, she could still sense his frustration and his fear. The names she'd rattled off in his office had been weighing heavily on her mind ever since she'd spoken them; Harry never liked to be reminded of betrayal, and they had never really discussed what happened with Tessa, or Connie, or Juliet. Oh, he'd given her the salient details, but he'd hidden his emotions away, refused to comment on the effect their actions had on him personally. She knew him well enough by now to recognize the look that had flickered across his face when she said their names, Juliet especially. It was pain she saw in his eyes, and that pain haunted her.

"Harry," she said softly.

"I don't want to talk about work," he replied, refusing to look at her. These days he didn't even need to see her face to read her thoughts.

Ruth sighed, and gave up any pretense of eating. "Harry," she said again, "we can't ignore it. We can't just come home and pretend that nothing happened. I only wanted to say I'm sorry, for what I said to you and how I said it. You didn't deserve that."

"Don't apologize. I needed to hear it," he said gruffly.

 _Stubborn old man,_ she thought fondly.

"You never talk about it, Harry. What happened with Juliet, I mean." She spoke in a low voice, not wanting to incite him to anger but wanting answers, anyway; she'd been longing to have this conversation with him ever since her return from Cyprus. Before that, if she were being honest with herself. She'd known from the moment Juliet first stepped onto the Grid that there was something between the pair of them, and time had proved her right. For years she had watched them going round and round, and wondered if perhaps the past wasn't as buried as Harry would like to pretend it was.

And then she'd left, and come home to find that Juliet had turned traitor, nearly killing both Ros and Harry in the process. This unspoken, unexplained history between Harry and Juliet had always weighed heavy on Ruth's mind; what sort of man would cheat on his wife with the likes of Juliet Shaw? Was Juliet the kind of woman he preferred, devious and ambitious, sharp-tongued and glamorous? Ruth knew she was none of those things, and when she'd first met Juliet, she'd become convinced that Harry would never look at her twice, not with that she-devil around. Juliet was long gone now, but the anxiety she'd inspired in Ruth had yet to abate.

"Perhaps I don't want to talk about it, Ruth," Harry answered, his voice as quiet as her own had been. "I don't have a lot of fond memories, where Juliet is concerned."

"Don't you?" The words were out before she could stop them, and Ruth blushed furiously at her own boldness. She wasn't trying to goad him, but she was growing tired of his constant deflections.

For his part, Harry seemed as shocked by her question as she was, and he looked up at her sharply, his face dark and unreadable.

"What is it you want, Ruth? Are you asking me about Yalta, or is there something else you want to know?"

 _Everything,_ she thought sadly, _I want to know everything about you._

"Harry-"

"Yes, I slept with her, Ruth. Yes, I was married at the time. There's an official reprimand in my file, I'm sure you could dig it up, if you were so inclined."

Ruth stayed quiet, not wanting him to know that she had already perused his file at great length.

"It was a long time ago, when I was young and foolish, and Juliet wasn't quite as…hard as she became later in life. I needed someone who understood what I was going through and my wife…" his voice trailed off and he dropped his gaze from her face.

Ruth was holding her breath. Juliet Shaw had given her no end of grief, but it was nothing compared to the way she felt about the mysterious Jane. The mother of Harry's children, the woman who had been his wife, blonde and tall and elegant and as different in appearance to Ruth as the sun to the moon. Harry had proposed to Ruth once (well twice, technically, she realized with a start), had offered himself to her freely and without reservation, but he had done the same for Jane, and where was she now?

"Jane is a good woman," Harry said after a time, as if he'd read her thoughts and knew what direction they had taken. "Yes, she can be vain, and bitter, but in her heart she's still that girl I knew at Oxford. We weren't well-suited, she and I. She didn't want to know what I was doing, with work, and she resented me for being gone all the time, for not helping with the children. Every problem Graham's ever had she's blamed me for. I'm not saying I don't deserve part of that blame, just maybe not all of it." He cleared his throat. "And as for Juliet, well, you have her to thank, for my asking you to dinner in the first place."

Ruth's mind was racing; she was so busy trying to refrain from asking questions about his falling out with Jane and about Grahams "problems" that Harry's last sentence caught her quite unawares, and she fumbled around for a moment, trying to find the words.

"What?" she asked inanely.

Harry gave her a sad little smile. "I went to visit Juliet in hospital, after Jocelyn Meyers and his cronies blew up her car. She asked me straight out if I was in love with you."

"But that was weeks before you asked me!" Ruth protested weakly. Juliet had asked if he was _in love_ with her? Perhaps once upon a time Juliet had believed, as Ruth did now, that she could read him like a book. Perhaps Juliet had enjoyed the same closeness with him, the same quiet understanding that Ruth had always treasured. Perhaps Ruth's relationship with Harry wasn't all that special, after all. Her heart sank lower with each passing second.

"I know," Harry smiled, blind to the turmoil that gripped her. "She could see right through me, though, she always could. I didn't answer her, of course, not directly. My feelings for you were never any of her concern. But then she said the strangest thing. She said _she's in love with you."_

 _She said what?_ Ruth wondered, horrified at the very prospect of Juliet Shaw knowing the darkest secrets of her heart.

"And then she said _don't let this opportunity pass you by._ I'm not in the habit of taking personal advice from Juliet, but in this one instance, I think she was correct. If I hadn't had that conversation with her, I might never have had the courage to ask you to dinner. Before that moment, I'd never considered the possibility that my feelings for you might have been reciprocated."

At the end of Harry's little speech Ruth was left feeling rather light-headed and off-balance. She remembered all too well that period in their lives, when Harry would offer her a lift home at least once a week and she would decline every single time, when they would stand to close, stare too long, when her heart would pound at his proximity, and break at the thought that he could never possibly want her the way she wanted him. And yet here they sat, all these years later, and Ruth was pregnant with his child, and he was telling her in a shy little voice that he had possessed the same fears, back then, that had paralyzed her so.

"Juliet bloody Shaw," she said in a despairing, faintly admiring tone of voice.

"Indeed," Harry agreed ruefully.

Ruth was saved having to come up with some sort of reply by the ringing of Harry's mobile. He fished it out of his jacket pocket, and answered it curtly. After a moment his face softened, and Ruth wondered who he could possibly be talking to, to inspire such a reaction. She got her answer only a moment later.

"I'd love to, darling," Harry was saying. "I'll just have to ask her. Could you hold on for a moment?"

He held the phone against his chest, and spoke to Ruth. "Catherine will be in London, in a few weeks, and she wanted to know if we could have dinner with her then."

Ruth nodded, dumbstruck. It was a given that she'd meet Harry's children at some point, but so far she had only really thought about it in the abstract. Setting a date and a time and a place made it real, and she felt faintly nauseous at the very idea. What must Catherine think of her, this woman so much younger than he, who had come along and usurped her mother's place? Would Catherine hate her? What would Harry do, if she did?

"Ruth says yes, absolutely," Harry said, shooting her a faintly accusatory glance, as if he was cross that she hadn't been more enthusiastic. "Just let us know when you get here, and we can set a time." He was quiet for a few moments, smiling as he listened to his daughter speak. "I will. I love you," he said, and then he ended the call.

"Catherine said to give you her best," he told her, returning to his supper with gusto.

"That's very kind of her," Ruth answered softly, not knowing what else to say. What was the protocol, in this situation?

"You've nothing to be worried about," Harry assured her. "You've piqued her interest. She was always a curious girl."

 _God help me,_ Ruth thought dejectedly, briefly imagining herself being interrogated by a smaller, female version of Harry.

"I've been wondering," Harry said after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, "when you thought you might like to move in."

The conversation had veered back to their current predicament, and Ruth felt much more comfortable talking about their plans for the peanut, as opposed to Harry's daughter or his nefarious former lover.

"I'd like to be settled in, before she gets here. Maybe once I'm eight months gone."

Harry's eyes grew distant for a moment as he did the math. "Six weeks," he said, once he'd come up with the answer.

"Not so long now," Ruth agreed quietly, running one hand absently over her belly. They had two and a half months left. She couldn't quite believe how quickly the time had gone, though given the fact that it was already June, she imagined that the last few months of her pregnancy would drag along, as her stomach grew and the heat index rose.

"Have you thought any more about names?" he asked.

"I've been leaning towards Emma, recently. Emma Rose," she added, smiling just a little.

Harry did not say anything, but the edges of his mouth turned down in the ghost of a frown.

"You don't like it," Ruth observed. "Are you still stuck on Sophia?"

He didn't answer, but he had slipped into that adorable little pout that made her want to lean across the table and kiss him senseless.

"We'll get there, Harry. Maybe we should just wait until we see her, to decide what to call her."

Ruth thought it was a very sensible suggestion, but Harry disagreed. "I'd like to have it worked out before she gets here. I don't want us to have a row in the delivery room."

She laughed. "I'm sure we won't, Harry. She'll have a name, something we both like."

He nodded in agreement, and then rose, beginning to clear away their plates. Ruth followed suit, standing beside him at the sink as he washed the dishes and then handed them off to her to dry. They worked in a blissful, domestic sort of silence for a time, but then the job was done and Ruth was feeling a bit unsure as to what to do next. She lingered by the sink, taking longer than was necessary to dry the last plate, wondering what she ought to say. It was getting late, and she'd only asked him to have dinner with her, and she hadn't properly moved into the house yet, and it was his house anyway, and it wasn't her place to say whether she should stay or go.

Harry made up her mind for her. He gave her a gentle little smile and pulled the plate out of her fidgeting hands and deposited it in the cupboard. He turned and wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned in to kiss her neck.

"Stay with me," he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin as he spoke.

"Yes," she sighed, running her fingers through his short hair. "Yes."


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: The beginning of this chapter is rated M.**

* * *

They were tangled together in his bed, Ruth straddling his lap, naked and glorious in her abandon. She rose up on her knees, and then slowly slid her quivering heat down the length of his shaft, drawing a long, desperate moan from both their mouths. Harry dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips, his eyes never once leaving her face as she moved, and his whole body strained with the effort of holding off his release. In moments like this, he could almost forget everything that had come between them in the past, forget his confusion and his doubts and her stubborn resistance to his love for her. In moments like this, when she opened herself up to him, when they moved together, when he could run his hands over her skin and see her flush with pleasure, he could almost believe they stood a chance.

Ruth was trembling under his hands; she'd told him earlier tonight as he drove her to his home that everything made her tired these days, that she felt exhausted and drained after completing the simplest of tasks, and he wondered if this was too much for her. Should he suggest they move, or would he completely ruin the moment, and lose the chance to spend the night with her in his bed?

Thankfully, Ruth was the first to suggest a change in position. Her knees gave out and she sank down on him much harder than she had intended, whimpering at the force of his cock sliding deep inside her. She slumped forward against his chest, breathing heavily, but after a moment she sighed and said, "Harry?"

He hid his smile from her questioning gaze, and eased her off of him and onto her back. He ran his hands along the smooth skin of her thighs, staring down at her in wonder, thinking only how lovely she was, and how happy she made him. He leaned forward, his stomach pressing against hers, and kissed her, slowly building the passion that had flared between them only a few moments before. She planted her feet on the mattress and bent her knees, cradling him between her legs, and he smiled against the softness of her lips.

Carefully he eased himself inside her, taking pains to keep his weight off of her, and away from the precious burden sheltered within the swell of her stomach. He moved slowly at first, knowing that in this, as was the case with almost everything that involved Ruth, patience and a tender touch were required. There had been times, in the past, when Ruth had wanted him to be more forceful, to take her quickly, to push her over the edge with reckless haste, but most often what Ruth needed was for him to take things slow and steady, and he was more than happy to oblige her.

" _Fuck_ ," she swore as he continued to push into her long and slow, feeling her inner muscles contract all around his length. With nearly superhuman restraint he resisted her obvious demand for more, wanting instead to hear her begging for him. An uninhibited Ruth was such a rare sight, and one that never ceased to arouse him beyond all reason.

She turned her head to the side, gasping with each thrust of his hips, her fingers fisting in his sheets and her hips rising up to meet him, encouraging him to move along. Still he kept up his pace, waiting for that moment when she would lose herself completely.

"Please, Harry," she moaned, " _please."_

He ducked his head and caught the tight furled bud of her nipple between his teeth, holding it there as he sped up, pounding into her harder and harder until she let go, and very nearly screamed as the force of her orgasm threw her back thrashing against the pillows. Her legs clamped tight around his hips, her trembling heat clenched and unclenched around him, he could feel the rush of her blood beneath his lips, and with a low, rough groan he felt his own release wash over him, felt himself pulsing deep inside her.

For a long moment he held himself suspended above her, wanting nothing so much as to collapse against her softness and bury his face in the sweat-drenched sweetness of her neck. He didn't want to crush her (or the peanut) in the process, so he waited until the pounding of his heart receded, and then regretfully pulled away from her, drawing one last, quiet moan from her as they parted and he laid himself out on his stomach beside her, one arm thrown across her chest, pulling her close so he could drop gentle kisses against her shoulder.

In that instant, with Ruth trembling and gasping beneath him, he very much wanted to tell her that he loved her. He was hers, without reservation, without remorse, without any recourse, and he knew that if they were ever going to work, in the long term, she would need to hear him say it. Was now the time, though? What would she think, if he told her in a post-coital haze, the wetness of their joining pooling between her thighs and his heart still pounding from his exertions? It would not do, to say the words only to have her think him disingenuous and lust-addled. So he only kissed her, and kept the truth of his heart locked away for another day.

* * *

When Ruth woke, it was to find Harry still slumbering peacefully beside her, his left hand resting tenderly against her distended belly. When she'd spent the night with him on Saturday, they'd woken the next morning in this exact some position, and she smiled to think of it. To see Harry, even in sleep, reaching out to hold her close, to protect their little girl. She felt warm and safe and happy, and she had no desire to move, though she knew she must, and soon. They would have to go to work today, would have to face the world again, and as much as she would prefer to simply lay in his bed all day, she knew that this was part of the reason she had insisted on coming over the night before. They needed to find a way to move forward in their lives, needed to establish a rhythm, and waking up together and then going into work was part of that.

Still, she could lay here a while longer, feeling Harry's hand warm and gentle against her skin. Her whole body felt loose and sated, this morning, and her heart felt lighter than it had in months. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad, this sharing her life with Harry. Perhaps they'd find their way through.

 _You really need a name, little one,_ she thought, bringing her hand up to rest against Harry's, sliding her fingers between his.

 _Your daddy quite likes Sophia, but I'm not so sure. You're not a Sophia, are you, love? Maybe…Olivia? Isabella? Poppy? Emilia?_ None of them seemed quite right, and if the peanut had an opinion, she was keeping her thoughts to herself for now.

"Maybe Joanna," Ruth mused, not realizing she'd spoken aloud until she felt Harry begin to stir beside her. He made a soft noise low in his throat, a sort of questioning hum, and she blushed just a little, embarrassed that she'd forgotten herself and spoken to the peanut aloud. It had become a habit, since she'd done it that first day in the bath; when she was alone, she would often speak aloud to the peanut, wanting her daughter to learn to recognize her voice.

When Ruth didn't answer, Harry turned over, his head resting against her shoulder and his fingertips brushing against the curve of her belly gently as he stared at her, bleary-eyed and happy.

"What did you say?"

"It was nothing," she assured him, but he was awake now, and he would not be deterred.

"Ruth," he said in a low, stern voice.

"I was talking to the peanut," Ruth mumbled.

"You were talking to her," he repeated, the corners of his mouth ticking up in an irritatingly amused sort of way. She leaned across him, and kissed that smug look right off his face.

"If you must know," she said breathlessly as she pulled away from him, "there is some evidence to suggest that babies can hear, in the womb."

"And you wanted her to get used to the sound of your voice," he finished the thought for her.

Ruth nodded.

This time it was Harry who leaned over to kiss her. When they parted, he moved down the bed, and brushed his lips against her bump.

"Good morning, peanut," he said softly. Ruth wound her fingers through his hair, smiling at him fondly as he spoke to their daughter. "Don't worry, little one, it's just me. I'm your dad." She was sharply reminded of the morning of Ros's funeral, when he had laid beside her with his head in her lap just as it was now, her fingers massaging his scalp, just as they were now. She had felt trepidation then, though she had not yet known how bad things would get. Now she felt only wonder, and hope, and what a strange thing it was, to think how much her life had changed in the intervening months.

Ruth felt the prickle of tears rising in her eyes unbidden, but she did nothing to try to stop them. For so long she had been lost, wondering how she would ever manage to raise this child on her own, but over the last few weeks, she had come to realize just how mistaken she had been. She wouldn't be alone; Harry wouldn't leave her. He was here, beside her, and whatever else might come between them, they both loved their little peanut fiercely.

Harry glanced up at her, concern in his eyes when he saw her tears. She smiled at him, a little tremulously, and he sat up beside her, pulling her into his arms, the brush of his skin against hers warming her through.

"Thank you," she murmured against his neck, "for being so lovely."

He smiled, and kissed her temple, and said not a word. For a long time after, they simply held one another, smiling in the peaceful quiet of his bedroom.

* * *

"Shall we go, then?" Harry asked, standing by the doorway, his tie still undone and dangling around his neck. He had driven them over to hers so she could change her clothes, and mercifully she had unlocked her flat to discover that Beth had already left for the day. It had taken her ages to find something to wear, stumbling around her bedroom while Harry watched her with a fond little smile on his face.

"I just need…" she had started to say _I just need to find my boot,_ but her voice trailed off as she spotted the offending article sticking out from beneath the corner of her bed. She retrieved it with a triumphant little cry, tugged it on, and turned to face him.

"How you ever find anything in here is a mystery to me," he said, his tone light and affectionate. She stomped across the room in mock indignation; when she reached him, she wound her hands around his neck, and raised herself up on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly.

"That was not very kind, Sir Harry," she murmured against his lips. Harry's hands had found their way to her hips, slipping beneath her blouse to brush against her skin in a way that set her heart to fluttering madly in her chest.

"I think you'll find, Miss Evershed," he replied, dipping his head to suckle her pulse point lightly, "I'm not a very kind man."

She groaned; every part of her wanted to give into him, _now_ , and let the Grid be damned, but they both had a job to do. She pulled away from him regretfully, smiling just a little to let him know that she hated putting a stop to their little tryst as much as he did. She reached up and began to tie his tie, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she concentrated.

The morning had gone so well that she wasn't even worried about their arriving on the Grid together. Why should she be worried, when everyone already knew she was pregnant with his child, when she'd spent a blissful night wrapped up in his arms, when he'd made her breakfast and she'd tied his tie, and no harm had befallen either of them in the process? In that moment, she didn't care about gossip or professional fallout; all she cared about was Harry, and their daughter, and the joy and the love that bound them all together.

 _I love you,_ she thought, wondering if now was the time to say it. They were both fully clothed and wide awake, and happier than they'd been for a long, long time. _Do it, do it now, before-_

"Time and tide, I'm afraid," he said softly.

Ruth just nodded in reply. They needed to get to work, and any desperate declarations of love would have to wait, for at least a few more hours.


	35. Chapter 35

Beth was sat behind her desk, covertly staring at the doors, waiting for Lucas to come walking through. He was due back today, but he'd yet to put in an appearance; for that matter, Harry and Ruth were both running behind this morning as well. That was less of a mystery to Beth, seeing as she knew her wayward flatmate had left the Grid in Harry's company the night before, and never come home. It didn't take a genius to figure out where the pair of _them_ were this morning, but Lucas's location was still marked with a big question mark in her mind.

And so she contemplated the doors. Ruth, Harry, and Lucas all three referred to them as _the pods_ , for some reason that had yet to be explained to Beth. They weren't pods, they were doors, plain and simple. They slid smoothly open as you approached, and slid smoothly closed behind you as you departed, and there was nothing even remotely pod-like about them to her mind. And yet, the three veteran members of the team all shared this little idiosyncrasy in common. She filed that question away in her mind, in a folder marked _things to ask Ruth when I'm completely sloshed later._

Perhaps over the course of their evening together Ruth had managed to talk Harry down somewhat, Beth mused as she continued to wait. He'd clearly been cross with her yesterday, but he'd left in Ruth's company, his hand resting on the small of her back, and surely that meant his ire had cooled somewhat. If anything was to be done about Lucas, they desperately needed Harry on side, and despite Ruth's insistence to the contrary it had become apparent to Beth that the only person who could bring Harry around was Ruth herself.

And even as that thought crossed her mind the pair of them appeared, walking too close together and smiling that irritating little smile all newfound lovers seemed to have in common. Harry veered off toward his office, and Ruth floated over to her desk, and Beth shook her head as she watched them, wondering if they had forgotten the seriousness of the situation they found themselves in.

"Have a good night, then?" Beth asked tartly.

Ruth jerked her head up from her computer, staring at Beth in horror, and she instantly felt like an arse for being so cruel. Whatever Ruth and Harry shared was still a delicate thing, she knew, and Ruth deserved better than to find herself on the receiving end of Beth's poor mood.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, but the damage was done. Ruth had returned to her work with a faint blush coloring her cheeks, resolutely refusing to look at her.

"It's fine," she said shortly.

 _Damn it, Bailey._

Beth had her mouth open to protest, to repeat her apology, to say anything to get Ruth to smile again, but before she had a chance, the doors opened, and Lucas stepped through. He wore the scowl that had become a permanent fixture on his face, and he did not speak to anyone as he made his way to his desk. Beth sat, caught between the two of them, feeling guilty and scared in almost equal measure. It was going to be an unbearable day.

* * *

Around lunchtime, Ruth finally found it in herself to go and speak to Beth. The girl had retreated to the kitchen, mumbling something about tea, no doubt wanting to escape the close confines of the Grid where Lucas was brooding and Ruth was pouting and Dimitri was trying and failing miserably to make them all laugh. She needed to make things right between her and Beth; now was not the time for them to go falling out with each other.

"Beth," she said quietly as she stepped into the room.

"Ruth, I'm so sorry," Beth said in a dejected little voice that spoke all too plainly of the misery the girl had endured for most of the morning.

"It's all right, you didn't do anything wrong," Ruth told her gently. It was the truth; this was what friends did, wasn't it? They teased each other, and they supported each other through grief, and they fought on occasion, and made up in the end.

"I shouldn't have said anything, I know you don't like us talking about you that way."

Ruth nodded. "I don't, but I also know you didn't mean anything by it, not really. I'm sorry I reacted poorly."

Beth gave her bashful little smile. "Are we all right, then?"

"Absolutely," Ruth replied, reaching out to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We've got to stick together, you and me. We can't let the boys go thinking they run this place."

That comment earned her a little laugh, and just like that, things were back to normal between them.

"Do you have any news, about our wayward soldier?" Beth asked carefully. They'd agreed not to mention Lucas's name, ever, and Beth had suggested referring to him in this way. It would do for now, but Ruth wasn't comfortable speaking about it on the Grid, and she was a bit shocked at Beth's boldness, bringing it up in the kitchen like this.

"No, nothing," she said, giving Beth a warning sort of glance. "I'll take you through my notes when we get home tonight."

Beth nodded, and Ruth left her to her tea, wondering how long they could possibly hope to keep their suspicions secret from Lucas.

* * *

The rest of the week slipped away, the way days will do when the time is spent working and worrying in equal measure. Harry had to work on Saturday, and likely Sunday as well, so Ruth had resigned herself to not seeing him again until Monday. They had not spoken, about the steps they'd taken towards each other, but Ruth had the feeling that she need only ask, and she could find herself in Harry's bed again anytime she chose. That was comforting in a way; he wasn't demanding anything of her, letting her decide what she was ready for, on the relationship front. On the other hand, she still carried her familiar doubts, about how long they could keep it up. Early on, Harry had told her that they didn't have to put a name to what they were, and she had balked at the prospect. It frightened her less now, now that he had shown her just how committed he was to her and to the peanut, but her fears had not disappeared completely.

And in the midst of her worries about Harry, she had finally made arrangements to go and see her mother on Saturday. Ruth was dreading that visit, and for the first time in six months she lamented the fact that she couldn't get roaring drunk. It might have helped to pass the time on Friday night, when she was sitting at home moping and Beth was out at some pub with Dimitri and Tariq, and Harry was…

 _Wait a minute,_ she told herself. Beth was out, and would likely not be coming back until very late. Harry had to work in the morning, but his meeting was at 8:00 a.m., and Beth certainly wouldn't be awake by then. Ruth had no interest in getting dressed again and leaving the flat, but perhaps she could ask Harry to come by. He could help her through her worries about her mother, could keep her company while she fretted, could keep her warm while she slept.

She stared at her mobile, frozen for several minutes as she tried to decide what to do. She'd left him on the Grid hours ago; surely he wasn't still there? Would he want to come round? Would he request she come to his instead, and what would she say if she did? The couch was quite comfortable, and Ruth was laid out on it wearing only a vest and her knickers, having been completely overcome by the heat of the day. It was cooler now than it had been, but her body hadn't gotten the message, and the thought of putting on clothes and schlepping across the city to his was deeply unappealing.

 _Oh, just ring him,_ she told herself sternly.

And so she did.

"Ruth?" he said when he picked up, having for once actually checked to see who was calling him before answering.

"Hi," she said lamely, at a loss as to what to say now that she finally had him on the line.

"Is everything all right?" he asked her, when she offered no explanation for her call. She could tell by his tone that he was concerned, likely thinking she was about to deliver some sort of news about the peanut.

"Yes, yes, everything's fine," she assured him quickly. "I was just wondering if maybe you might like to…" her voice trailed off and even though he couldn't see her, she was blushing furiously. Eating dinner with him and falling into bed was one thing; inviting him to spend the night with her in her flat was something else entirely, and she found herself overcome by a crippling sense of doubt. What if he didn't want to see her? What if he'd been looking forward to spending the night alone?

"Are you asking me to come over, Ruth?" he asked, his voice low and faintly amused now.

"Yes, Harry, I think I am," she answered with all the dignity she could muster.

On the other end of the phone, Harry just chuckled. "I'll be there in half an hour," he told her.

* * *

In the end, it only took him twenty minutes.

Ruth met him at the door, and in a stroke of boldness, she did not dress for the occasion, choosing instead to welcome him in nothing but the vest and knickers she'd been wearing before. She had never been particularly good at the seduction routine, but she had invited Harry over for many reasons, and sex was definitely one of them. Harry took the hint, and had her wrapped in his arms almost before the door closed behind him, his lips melding to hers as the passion between them built to a furious tempo. They stumbled down the hallway together, Ruth giggling as they both struggled to divest Harry of his clothes; he pulled himself away from her at the bedroom door, grumbling as he went back to retrieve his shirt and his belt from the hall.

"Don't want Beth to get a shock," he said breathlessly when he saw her questioning glance; Ruth just reached out, caught him by the waistband of his trousers, and pulled him into her room with a grin.

* * *

Afterwards they lay amidst the tangled ruins of Ruth's sheets, Harry's head on her chest, her hands in his hair, his fingertips following the curve of her belly as they both tried to settle down. Ruth couldn't seem to keep the smile from her face; Harry was _here_ , in her bed, and she drew immeasurable comfort from his presence. She ached in a delightful sort of way, and her limbs were loose and heavy. Even if she'd wanted to, she could not have moved an inch.

"I'm glad you came," she murmured, and she felt Harry smile against her skin.

"I'm glad you asked me," he replied.

For a time they were quiet, enjoying that post-coital glow, but Ruth's thoughts were slowly beginning to order themselves, and her growing fears about Lucas came to the forefront once again. She and Harry had not spoken about him since Monday, but she had been carefully tracking his activities on his computer, and had been meticulously logging all his calls, and Harry needed to know what she had found.

"Harry," she said, hating the fact that she was about to break through their peaceful bubble, but feeling it needed to be done anyway, "I need to talk to you about Lucas."

Harry's hands stopped their perusal of her stomach, and she felt him tense in her embrace.

"Ruth-" he started warningly, but she cut him off.

"He's been making and receiving calls from untraceable numbers, and there's nothing about them in his reports."

"And you're sure they're untraceable?"

"As sure as I can be, without bringing Tariq on board."

Harry sighed. "Don't do that. It's bad enough Beth is suspicious, I don't want anyone else on the team involved. Maybe we ought to ask Malcolm."

It was Ruth's turn to sigh. "Malcolm's retired, Harry, it wouldn't be fair to ask that of him."

He kissed her stomach absently. "You're probably right. I appreciate that you're concerned about this, but can we agree not to discuss work in bed, at least?" His tone was vaguely plaintive, like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away, and Ruth smiled down at him, feeling rather indulgent towards him, just now.

"Agreed," she said lightly. "What do you want to talk about then?"

Harry was quiet for a long time, and with each passing second of silence, Ruth's concern grew. What could possibly be weighing on his mind, that he would hesitate so to bring it up?

"I don't want to upset you," he said, and her heart sank in her chest. _This can't be good,_ she thought morosely.

"Just say it, Harry."

He righted himself, propping himself up on the pillows beside her and taking one of her hands between both of his own. He took a deep breath, and looked into her eyes as he spoke.

"I was wondering why you never told me about what happened…before. When you came back. About the baby."

 _Christ._

It took every ounce of self-restraint she possessed to stay in that bed with him; every inch of her wanted to jump up and run, as far and as fast as she could. Of course he would be curious, about what had happened with George, about the baby that almost was, but she could not imagine any circumstance under which she would want to have this conversation with him. Remembering hurt too much, and to speak of this thing that lay between them would demand that she give voice to so many things she had hoped could remain unsaid.

"Do you really have to ask, Harry?" she said softly.

"I know that it must have hurt you, deeply," he soldiered on, "but I wish I could have been there for you. I hate to think that you went through that alone."

"I wasn't alone," she insisted, staring down at their entwined hands rather than meeting the weight of his gaze. "Jo was with me."

* * *

 _Jo was with me._

 _Christ, poor Ruth,_ he thought, overcome with a welter of emotions. He hadn't meant to ask her about it, or at least not in this way, but he was always loose-lipped and careless after sex. Surely he should have learned his lesson, after he'd let one too many secrets slip to Juliet and very nearly lost his job in the process, but it seemed that this was one flaw he had yet to overcome.

He _did_ know why she hadn't told him; when it happened George was dead and her life was ruined and everything between them was pain and unspoken longing. Of course she wouldn't tell him that she'd been pregnant with another man's child at the time. What he'd meant to ask was _are you still grieving, does it pain you to be pregnant now, are you worried about our baby, too?_ He wanted to support her, as much as she would let him, and he had chosen to frame his question the way he had in an attempt to approach the subject delicately. That attempt had failed rather spectacularly, it would seem.

And now there was the pain of losing Jo, too, Jo who had apparently carried her through that horror, only to be ripped away from her so soon after. It added a whole new dimension to that night when Beth had called him round, when Ruth had been all but inconsolable.

"I'm glad she was there," he said gently. "I'm glad you had someone you could trust."

Ruth nodded, still refusing to look at him.

Things had been going so well; why did he always have to go and cock everything up?

"It… wasn't a good time for me, Harry. If you had been there, it only would have made things worse."

He tensed at those words; no man wants to hear that his lover would prefer the comfort of a friend to his own steady presence. He thought about it though, and in a way he understood. What happened in the warehouse that day had been a hellacious ordeal for them both, and it had taken so much time for them to find their way back to one another. He could still hear the echo of Ruth's screams in his mind, the most awful, gut-wrenching sound he'd ever heard in his entire life, and he honestly didn't know how he would have reacted, if he'd known the truth at the time. Perhaps things were better as they were.

"I'm sorry, for bringing it up," he said contritely.

"It's all right, Harry," she told him in a soft voice. "I was devastated, at the time, but George and I were never really meant to be. We can't waste our time brooding over what never was. We have to live in this moment, and in this moment…I'm happy. I'm happy that you're here. I'm happy that the peanut is healthy."

At those words, Harry leaned over, and brushed his lips against hers softly, to let her know he understood, that he felt the same. He needed no further explanation from her on the subject, not now, and so he pulled the duvet up over them, and they shuffled down the bed together, wrapping their arms around one another and falling into sleep, together.


	36. Chapter 36

Harry woke early, his internal clock alerting him to the rising of the sun well before the alarm he'd set on his mobile. He needed to get home, have a shower and change his clothes, but he was loath to move just now. Ruth was warm and soft, sleeping peacefully beside him, the heavy swell of her belly cradled protectively beneath his left hand. As he lay there beneath her sheets, feeling her chest rising and falling gently in time to the rhythm of her deep, steady breaths, he smiled to himself. She had surprised him, ringing him up the night before and inviting him round, but he was grateful to her for trusting him enough to ask. There were still times when he wasn't sure where they stood, what they wanted from one another, but as the days passed he found himself feeling more confident where she was concerned. Last night Ruth had wanted him near her, and when he broached the difficult subject of her miscarriage, she did not run from him. Surely that was a good sign, he thought.

He eased himself away from her regretfully, shuffling around the room in darkness in search of the clothes she'd torn off him the night before. Something had made her bold, last night, something had given her the courage to answer the door half-naked and practically begging him to take her; hormones most likely, he supposed. Dimly he could recall Jane having been particularly amorous throughout both of her pregnancies. Jane had never been a hesitant lover, but she'd been practically ravenous during those months.

As always, thoughts of Jane made him sigh. There was a part of him that was glad, to have her so removed from his life, but in his heart he would always view the ending of their marriage as his own personal failure. He had never been the man Jane needed him to be. Though he supposed she wasn't the woman he needed in the end, either.

There was Jane, petty, and pretty, and brittle as a sheet of glass, and then there was Ruth. Had two women ever been more different? He mused to himself, taking a moment to stare indulgently at Ruth, so peaceful now in sleep. Ruth was introspective where Jane was combative, calm where Jane was practically bombastic, fiercely loyal where Jane was brutally selfish; Ruth was as pale and lovely as porcelain, but with bones of steel. He tried to imagine how Jane might react, had she faced even half of the horrors that Ruth had borne over the last few years, and he shook his head. Jane would have broken beneath the weight of their losses, whereas Ruth held steady. There had been times when he feared for her, times when he looked at her and grieved for the bright-eyed, hopeful girl she'd been, but Ruth was still here, still able to find a piece of happiness in their world of shadows, and in that moment, he was completely awestruck by the truth of her.

"I can feel you looking at me," she mumbled, her luminous eyes still closed but a faint smile pulling at the corners of her full lips.

"Can you blame me?" he replied.

Ruth stretched, catlike, dislodging the thin sheet that had previously hidden her nakedness from him, revealing the sharp points of her collarbones and the smooth curve of her breasts, her soft, dusky pink nipples calling his name as they hardened in the cool air of her bedroom. He was drawn to her as a moth to a flame, leaning over her and brushing her lips with his own almost before he realized what was happening.

"Will you be all right today?" he asked, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, one of his hands reaching out to absently trace the swell of her stomach.

Ruth was going to see her mother this afternoon, and he knew she was dreading it. He supposed that was part of the reason she wanted him near last night; sometimes, they both needed a little help to keep their demons at bay. He couldn't imagine how she must be feeling. Harry had lost his own mother while he was at university, and some days he still felt as if the world had grown a bit darker, in her absence. How could Ruth have willingly kept herself away from her mother for so long? How guilty must she be feeling, his dear sweet Ruth, his Ruth who always blamed herself, even when she'd done nothing wrong? There was a great deal Harry still didn't know about her, about her life before she'd come to Thames House; oh, he'd read her file, seen enough to know, for example, that Ruth's relationship with Peter Haig was the only way to break Angela Wells in half, but he knew he had only scratched the surface of her past. Maybe one day she would trust him enough to fill in the gaps.

She had that faraway look in her eyes, the one he only saw when she was buried deep inside herself, too distant for him to reach.

"I'll be fine," she said softly. Harry didn't believe that for a moment, but he wasn't about to push her just now.

"Ring me?" he asked, reaching out to brush her dark away from her face, hoping that the touch of his hand would bring her back into this moment with him. "When you get home?"

She gave him a little nod. "I will. Do you have to go now?" Her voice was soft and sad, and he dearly wished he had a different answer to give her.

"I do," he told her apologetically.

Before she could say anything else, he leaned over her, and kissed her again, long and slow, their tongues sliding gently together, his hand moving of its own volition to cup her exposed breast, drawn to her skin as if by some unfathomable magnetic force. Tenderly he brushed his thumb across her nipple, and felt her shudder underneath his touch. He did it again, and felt her answering moan vibrating against his lips. Already he could feel himself slowly beginning to harden, the sound of her voice and the warmth of her skin, coupled with the scent of her and the recollections of the frenzied way they'd fallen together the night before overwhelming him, ratcheting up the desire that burned between them.

"I have to go," he murmured between heated kisses.

"I know," she answered. Before he could pull away, she reached out, and dragged the tips of her fingers against the length of his semi-hard cock, and he very nearly lost all control of himself.

"Ruth-"

"I know," she said again, disentangling herself from his embrace and leaning back against the pillows. "It's all right. Go to work. I'll call you later."

 _I love you_ , he thought. The words stuck in his throat; why could he not say them? _Because she would run,_ he told himself. _Because you can't lose her, not yet, not now._

One more time he leaned across the space between them, and kissed her lips, just because he could, because he wanted to. And one more time she let him, smiling at him as he pulled away. He gave her a quiet farewell, and when he turned to close her bedroom door behind him, he saw her snuggling back beneath the sheets, warm and happy.

* * *

Beth rose early on Saturday morning; though she'd been out late the night before, she'd had entirely too much to drink, and she'd woken in desperate need of a piss and a large glass of water. She stood by the kitchen sink, the little clock on the opposite wall proclaiming the time to be just past six in the morning. _It's entirely too early for this_ , she thought to herself, cradling her glass in her hands and forcing herself to take small sips, rather than gulping the whole thing down. Her stomach was in a riot and her head was pounding, and she promised herself two things as she stood there. One, she was never going out with Dimitri and Tariq unsupervised ever again. Two, she was going back to bed as soon as she was finished with her water, and she wasn't going to get up again until Monday morning.

Needless to say, Beth was not at her best when Harry came waltzing down the hall, whistling to himself.

Beth prayed he'd just keep walking past the kitchen, but, ever the spook, he seemed to sense her presence, and turned toward the kitchen doorway instead.

He stopped short the moment he saw her, his happy little whistle dying abruptly on his lips. For a full minute they simply stood and stared at one another like two cowboys facing off in a bad Western. Harry's hair was mussed and his clothes were wrinkled (and, Beth noted, definitely the same shirt and trousers he'd worn yesterday), and for her part Beth was wearing a vest and a very brief pair of shorts, her hair a fright and yesterday's make up still smudged around her eyes. Beth was pretty sure she was still at least a half-drunk, and she didn't trust herself to speak. What could she say, anyway? What was she supposed to do when she found her boss all loved-up and happy in her kitchen at six a.m. on a Saturday, when she was practically sweating vodka and trying valiantly not to be sick all over the floor?

"Good morning," Harry said, managing to somehow still look rather stern, despite the circumstances.

"Morning," Beth croaked in reply.

That seemed to satisfy Harry's sense of propriety, so he simply gave her a little nod, turned on his heel, and walked out of the flat without another word.

Beth downed the rest of her water and shuffled off to lock the door behind him. She was definitely going back to bed, and she was never, ever going to come out again.

* * *

David was waiting for her, when she pulled up outside the home where her mother had taken up residence. For weeks she had been dreading this, not knowing what she'd find, but she knew it had to be done. And David would be with her, quiet and supportive as he'd always been.

 _You can do this,_ she told herself, taking a deep breath as she crossed the pavement to greet him.

The moment she drew level with him David wrapped his arms around her. They'd never been much on hugging, Ruth and her stepfather, but she knew that her rather miraculous resurrection had shaken him, and she welcomed his affection now in a way she never would have when she was younger.

"You look lovely, Ruth," he told her warmly when they parted.

She never knew how to respond to comments like that; _thank you_ seemed too vain, but if she protested too much, it always sounded like she was fishing for compliments. So she elected not to say anything at all, and gave him a half-hearted smile instead.

"Have you spoken to the doctors today?" she asked as he turned to guide her into the building.

"I have. They've been working with her for a while now, trying to get her ready for this. It sounds like today is one of the good days. It's going to be all right, Ruth."

"What have they told her?" Ruth asked him. She'd been wondering about that for ages; would the doctors use Elizabeth's faulty memory against her, try to convince her that her recollections of her daughter's death were no more than fabrication? That seemed like such a dirty trick, and she fervently hoped they hadn't been manipulating her mother in that way.

"They told her the same thing you told me, that you were gone for a while because you were in danger, but that you're safe now and that you want to see her. They've told her every day, and they seem fairly confident that it's sunk in."

At the front desk Ruth had to show her ID and sign a little book, her hand shaking as she scrawled her name across the page. _How did it come to this?_ She wondered sadly. How had she let things get to a point where it had taken a platoon of doctors and nurses weeks to prepare her own mother to see her again? True, their relationship had always been fraught, but Elizabeth was her _mother_. Surely she deserved better than a daughter who deserted her, who let her believe her only child was dead for years.

As they walked down a long corridor that stank of antiseptic, Ruth wondered about her own daughter, still safe and sound and sheltered inside her growing belly. Would Ruth's relationship with the peanut fall apart, the way her relationship with Elizabeth had? Years from now, would the peanut quietly resent her, scramble for excuses not to see her, staunchly refuse to explain their troubles to her lover?

 _I promise to try harder, love,_ Ruth thought desperately as she walked. _I promise to be there for you, if you'll let me._

"Here we are then," David said softly, coming to a stop outside a nondescript door. Just a door, like the dozens that dotted this corridor, and yet Ruth dreaded the discovery of what might wait for her on the other side.

"David-"

"I'll be with you, Ruth. It'll be all right." His voice was warm, but firm, and brooked no argument. With one last glance at her face, he opened the door and ushered her inside.

Elizabeth's room was actually a small suite; the door opened onto a sitting room, with a little bathroom off to the left, and a bedroom to the right. The far wall was given over to a lovely (if heavily reinforced) window, and it was there Elizabeth sat, reclining on the amply cushioned window seat, a book open on her lap but her eyes fixed on the window and the sundrenched world beyond.

It had been nearly four years since Ruth had last seen her mother, and in that time, everything had changed. Elizabeth's once lustrous hair had gone a dull, dingy grey, and her formerly voluptuous frame had shrunken down around her, leaving her small and frail. Her eyes were the same, though; they were the same bright, brilliant blue eyes Ruth saw every morning when she looked in the mirror. Those eyes were the only thing Ruth and her mother had ever shared in common.

"Elizabeth?" David said softly. "Darling, Ruth's here."

At the sound of David's voice Elizabeth snapped to attention, and when she turned to look at them the book slid off her lap and landed in a heap on the floor.

"Ruth?" Elizabeth asked, and for a moment Ruth was horrified, convinced that her mother had forgotten her completely.

"My God, it really is you," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes as she rushed to her feet, practically running across the room to throw her arms around her daughter. "My darling girl," Elizabeth wept, her whole body shaking. For her part Ruth found she could not speak a word, and so she simply held her mother close.

After several long, increasingly uncomfortable moments, Elizabeth finally drew back, hungrily devouring Ruth's face with her gaze. It was a rather confronting moment for Ruth, standing beneath her mother's scrutiny; she never liked being the center of attention, and she could not begin to fathom what was running through her mother's mind. The woman Ruth had left behind all those years before would not hesitate to offer scathing recriminations, upon discovering that her daughter's death had been a lie, and deep in her heart Ruth had thrown up her defenses, hoping to protect herself should such a thing come to pass.

"Why do you look so sad, my love?" Elizabeth asked, reaching up with one bony hand to cup Ruth's cheek, forcing her to look into her mother's face.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get here," Ruth answered. That was as close to the truth as she might ever come, when faced with such a question. _Why do I look so sad? Mother, there aren't enough hours in the day for me to answer that._

With an impatient hand Elizabeth waved her apology away. "Never mind that," she said.

She had her mouth open to ask another question, but it was in that instant that she first registered Ruth's condition.

"My God, Ruth, are you…" her voice trailed away, and Ruth wasn't sure if it was hope or horror she saw in her mother's eyes.

There was no denying it, even if she wanted to, and so she nodded. "I'm nearly seven months gone, now. It's a girl."

Elizabeth's tears started afresh at that declaration. All this weeping was making Ruth rather tired; though Elizabeth didn't seem to care, David did, and, as always, he stepped in to ease the strain he saw on his step-daughter's face.

"Why don't we all sit down?" he suggested, taking Elizabeth by the arm and leading her over to the little table in the corner.

"I just can't believe it," Elizabeth said, wiping at her eyes rather theatrically. "I always told David I feared we'd never have any grandchildren; you were always such a mousy little thing. It's no wonder the boys never looked twice at you."

Ruth just sighed in response. Of course, her mother would choose to focus less on the fact that Ruth had managed to somehow come back from the dead and more on the fact that she had been a constant source of disappointment, ever since she was small. _Unless she's already forgotten that I'm meant to be dead,_ Ruth thought glumly.

"What's his name then, darling? Why isn't he here?" All traces of her tears were gone now, and instead Ruth was faced with the mother she remembered, all sharp glances and cutting words.

"His name is Harry, and he had to work today." _Please let that be enough, please don't push…_

"Couldn't be bothered to come out and see me, eh? Does _Harry_ have a last name?"

Ruth fought the urge to roll her eyes. David didn't overlook her frustration; he reached out and squeezed her hand while Elizabeth wasn't looking in a tiny gesture of solidarity.

"Pearce, mum. His name is Harry Pearce."

"Harry Pearce," Elizabeth repeated. "And can I expect a wedding invitation any time soon? Or has Mr. Harry Pearce vanished into thin air?"

This felt like some sort of bizarre nightmare, Ruth thought grimly. Terrorists and bombs and hackers she could handle, but her mother on the warpath was a threat she'd never really learned to cope with.

"No," she said, perhaps a bit more sharply than she'd intended. "Harry is a good man, mum, but we're not getting married."

Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up into her hairline, but before she could say anything else, David smoothly intervened.

"We're so pleased for you, Ruth," he said, giving Elizabeth a look that Ruth recognized well from her childhood. It was a look that said plainly, _Elizabeth, be a dear and do shut up, please._

Elizabeth made a sort of _hmph_ sound. "Yes, darling, we're very pleased. Now tell me, do you have a name picked out for her yet? Please don't tell me you've gone and chosen something ridiculous like Aphrodite."

* * *

In the end, Ruth spent nearly three hours sitting around that cramped table with her mother and stepfather, and though there were times when she simply wanted to stomp from the room like a petulant child, it wasn't nearly as bad as she expected. She lingered by the car, talking to David for a while, and he confessed that Elizabeth had been more herself for those three hours than he'd seen her for some months. Every day was different, he said, but that had been a good day, and he attributed his wife's good humor to Ruth, and to the delightful news about the baby. Ruth hugged him in farewell, with promises to ring, and to come back as soon as she was able.

As she drove, her thoughts wandered. She thought about how she'd cried after leaving London, imagining her mum and David at her funeral, and all the nights she'd spent wondering how her family might react upon her return. Her homecoming had been nothing like she'd imagined it, blood-soaked and drenched in horror as it was, and she knew full well why she had taken so long to come to see her mother. After losing George and Nico and the baby and Jo so soon close on their heels Ruth had fallen into depression, but that was nothing new for her. That gut-wrenching, debilitating numbness was something she'd grown accustomed to, over the years. It was something she shared in common with Peter, their struggle with what Churchill had dubbed his "black dog." It kept her distant from her mother, kept her distant from Harry, kept her stumbling through her life without ever engaging. Would it come back? She wondered. What sort of havoc would that wreak on the peanut, if she woke one day feeling as bleak and as empty as she had when the black dog sank its teeth into her in the past?

 _I love you, little one,_ she thought as she drove, _and I will do my best for you. I will, I promise._


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: Forgive me, I can't recall which hospital Maya Lahan worked for, and I'm not in the mood to look it up at present. If anyone remembers, and wishes to point it out, I will make the necessary adjustments. Also, please let me take this opportunity to offer my sincerest thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing. This story has grown to be much longer than I was initially anticipating, and I'm deeply grateful for each of you choosing to continue on this journey with me.**

* * *

The next Friday night Beth and Ruth were ensconced in their sitting room, Beth camped out on the floor with a glass of wine in her hand, Ruth directing her movements like a drill sergeant from her favorite armchair. A pile of papers made a ring around Beth, a solar system of maps and GPS printouts orbiting her while she followed each of Ruth's commands.

"Ok, where's Thursday's log?" Ruth asked, her nose buried in a file.

Beth peered around herself, eventually leaning round to gather up a map that had somehow wound up under her bum.

"Got it," she said, waving the paper triumphantly and trying not to spill her wine in the process.

Ruth smiled at her, the tiniest flash of good humor, gone in an instant. Though Beth knew she presented a rather ludicrous image at present, the task at hand was actually rather serious, and she did not fault Ruth for her lack of joviality.

"Put a white flag on… Sutton Court Road, near Chiswick House."

It took her a moment but Beth did as she was bid, dutifully placing a small white sticker on the road once she'd found it. "Time?" she asked.

"4:30 p.m.," Ruth answered.

Beth marked the time on her sticker, then studied the map for a long moment. "According to the logs, Lucas arrived at St Thomas's Hospital just after four, and stayed there for approximately a quarter of an hour before leaving again. After that he went…." Her voice trailed off as she searched for the next marker. "To his flat. He did not leave again on Thursday."

At this news Ruth's face grew grim, but she made a note of the discrepancy.

They'd been at this for hours now, comparing the last two weeks of Lucas's activity, monitored via GPS tracking on his mobile, to the reports he'd logged. So far, they'd found nearly a dozen instances of his not being anywhere near where he said he was. Interestingly, the place he must often absconded to during his truancy was St Thomas's Hospital.

"What on earth is he doing?" Beth mused, staring at the little red dot that marked the hospital's location on her map. Why would Lucas be spending so much time at a hospital? Was he ill? Injured? If he was, why hadn't he told anyone?

Ruth was staring at the pile of reports in her lap. "Battersea Park, St. Thomas's, that pub in Fitzrovia…if there's a pattern connecting these places, I don't see it." At this she sounded particularly frustrated, and Beth couldn't blame her. Ruth lived for patterns, making sense of the insensible, deconstructing chaos and bringing order to the orderless. Mapping out Lucas's erratic behavior had been an exercise in futility; they had proof that he was lying, but without knowing _why,_ they were no closer to reaching a solution.

"We need to look at CCTV," Ruth said, still staunchly refusing to look up from the reports. Beth noticed with some amusement that Ruth was using her ever-expanding belly as a prop to hold the papers in place, but even that rather silly sight was not quite enough to bring a smile to her lips. "Pull the feeds from these days and see if he was meeting anyone."

"I agree, but to do that we'll need access to the Grid's computers. And we might need Tariq."

Ruth shook her head at this. "We can't involve him. Harry is adamant that he doesn't want anyone else from the team to know about this little project."

 _Of course,_ Beth thought ruefully. _Why ask for help when we can sit here with our hands tied behind our backs?_

"Why is he so dead-set against this?" she asked. So far she'd behaved herself, and had not drawn Ruth into a discussion of Harry and the minefield of his emotional state, but she was on her third glass of wine, she was tired, and she was frustrated beyond all reason.

"Honestly," Ruth said quietly, "I think it's because of me."

At this Beth looked up sharply. They did not talk about Ruth's burgeoning relationship with Harry, beyond one rather brief conversation several weeks before about Ruth moving in with him, and even that was more about logistics than romantic entanglements. Curiosity was nibbling at Beth again, and she sat quietly, waiting for further explanation.

"I know I haven't told you much about what happened when I left," Ruth continued in that same soft, sad tone of voice. "I got caught up in something, and Harry wouldn't listen to me. When he finally came around to my way of thinking, it was too late, and we were well and truly stuck. I think he's trying to give Lucas the benefit of the doubt, give him time to work this out, because he still feels guilty for not affording me the same opportunity."

This didn't quite ring true for Beth. "But if everything fell apart because he didn't listen to you then, surely that would be all the more reason for him to follow your lead now, wouldn't it?"

Ruth smiled sadly. "I'm not sure he's thinking about this logically, Beth. He feels he owes a debt to Lucas, and he doesn't want to betray him."

"If only Lucas felt the same," Beth muttered under her breath.

Ruth rose ponderously from her chair, and Beth took this as a signal that the time had come to pack in their paperwork, and find their beds. For a few minutes they worked quietly together, gathering up the maps and the reports and tucking them away in the files Ruth had smuggled out of Thames House.

"I'll have some time on Sunday afternoon to pull the CCTV footage," Ruth told her. "The rest of the team will have the day off, so no one will be looking over my shoulder."

"Not even Harry?" Beth asked, making a stab at lightheartedness despite the rather ominous tone of their evening so far.

"Not even Harry," Ruth agreed.

* * *

"Right then, I'm off," Ruth said, gathering up her bag and spinning in a slow circle, looking for her keys. Really, for someone with such an organized mind, Beth would have expected Ruth to be more together at home. She was forever losing her keys and misplacing her boots, perpetually running late because she'd had her nose stuck in some book and completely lost track of the time. In anyone else such disorder would have been a grievous fault, but Beth just found Ruth's general state of disarray to be endearing. Beth located Ruth's keys, stuck under the bowl of apples on the kitchen counter, and handed them off to her hapless flatmate.

"Will you be gone long?"

Ruth nodded. "We're looking for furniture this morning, and then we're having dinner with Catherine tonight."

"Catherine?" Beth asked, intrigued. Ruth flushed scarlet at the question.

"Harry's daughter," she confessed in a small voice.

 _Harry's daughter?_ Beth thought, all bemused. Harry had never once mentioned his having a child, and for that matter, neither had Ruth. A thousand questions jumped into Beth's mind all at once; how old was this girl? Who was her mother? How many other children did he have that Beth and the team knew nothing about? How did Ruth feel about this?

It was plain that Ruth hadn't meant to divulge quite so much; she was fidgeting slightly under Beth's confused gaze.

"I hope it…goes well, then," Beth said, a bit lamely.

"Thanks," Ruth answered, standing rather awkwardly there by the doorway, as if she were debating saying something else for a moment before she gave herself a little shake, and departed.

 _This just gets stranger and stranger,_ Beth thought, returning to the table with a sigh.

* * *

Furniture shopping with Harry turned out to be a bit of an ordeal, in the end. Ruth had been insistent that she wanted solid, wooden pieces for their baby, and she had been so sure she wanted them in a dark color. Harry had indulgently driven them to a rather nice little shop, and it was at that point that all of Ruth's convictions fell apart. It was all so bloody expensive, and that of course raised the question of who was going to pay for what. Harry said he was planning to purchase everything himself, Ruth said perhaps they ought to split it, he tried to put his foot down, she protested, and on and on it went. And then there was the furniture itself; Ruth fell in love with a little white cot, with a little flower pattern etched into the crosspieces, but Harry had already purchased a cherry-wood rocking chair. She had thought she wanted everything to match, and now she wasn't so sure.

After several hours, many different shops, two crying fits, one rather tense lunch, and several hundred pounds of Harry's money, they'd finally purchased everything they needed, and arranged for the lot to be delivered to Harry's house the following weekend. He drove them home, and Ruth immediately shuffled off to his bed, snuggling down for a nice long nap.

And that was where Harry found her, at a quarter past five, fast asleep. She woke to his lips, brushing soft kisses against her cheek, and his hand, rubbing gentle circles across her stomach. She hummed happily, every bone in her body whispering the desire to stay exactly where she was, bundled beneath his sheets.

"Time to wake up, I'm afraid," Harry murmured. A slight pout formed on her lips unbidden, but Harry just laughed and kissed it away. "Catherine will be here in about an hour."

Ruth sat bolt upright in the bed, very nearly smacking her head against Harry's jaw in the process. All thoughts of their impending dinner with Harry's daughter had faded from her mind, replaced with more immediate worries about wood stains and baby bedding, but now they were back with a vengeance.

"Oh God," she groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I must look a fright."

"You look lovely," Harry replied, smiling. "But you've enough time for a shower, if you'd like."

Ruth smiled at him gratefully from between her fingertips.

"Go on," he said, dropping one last kiss against her forehead. "There's a hair dryer, under the sink."

Ruth deliberately chose not to ask the obvious question, about why a man who had as little hair as did Harry might have such an item in his bathroom, and choosing instead to be thankful for small mercies. If she was going to face her lover's child for the first time, she wanted to do so looking fresh and clean, not wrinkled and crusty-eyed from sleep.

 _It's going to be all right,_ she told herself firmly. _It's going to be all right._

* * *

The doorbell rang at exactly six o'clock. Ruth still hadn't made an appearance; Harry was vaguely concerned she might have fallen back to sleep, but he resolved to give her a few minutes more to prepare herself. In a way he was appreciative of the fact that Ruth's characteristic tardiness would buy him a few moments alone with his daughter. He wiped his hands carefully on a tea towel, and went to answer the door.

Every time he saw her, Harry was struck by just how grown up Catherine had become. In his mind she was perpetually fourteen, all knobby knees and tangled hair, but she'd grown into a lovely young woman, willowy and graceful, just like her mother, with a wariness in her eyes to match.

"Catherine," he said warmly, stepping aside to let her pass.

His daughter smiled at him hesitantly, a small bouquet of flowers clutched in her hands. That she had come bearing a gift, and one so obviously meant for Ruth, seemed to Harry to be a good sign indeed.

"This is a lovely house," she said in a strained little voice, taking in her surroundings slowly.

Harry had bought this house after the Firestorm debacle; his security had been compromised, and it was procedure to relocate any agent, no matter their rank, after such an event. In truth he'd bought more house than he needed, and though he had not been willing to admit it to himself at the time, he knew now that he'd bought a home with three bedrooms in the hope that one day his children might visit him there. Not that he spoke to his son, not that he'd ever extended any such invitation to his daughter before tonight, but still, he'd harbored that dream. He was grateful for the space now; he had the feeling that he and Ruth were going to need it.

"Thank you," he said, in response to her hesitant compliment. "Come into the kitchen, Ruth's just getting ready."

"She's not one of those people who dress for dinner, is she?" Catherine asked in a tone thick with distaste. Harry struggled to repress a laugh at the thought of Ruth doing such a thing.

"Not at all. We had rather a busy morning, and she gets tired easily these days. She just wanted to straighten herself out before she met you."

They meandered into the kitchen, and Catherine made a beeline for the table, folding herself into the chair furthest from the door, running her fingers lightly along the smooth grain of the table once she was settled.

"How is she, then? And the baby? Everything all right?" It was obvious that his daughter found this whole situation as strange and difficult to navigate as he did, but she was trying, and Harry loved her for it.

"They're both doing well. Ruth has her seven-month check, next week."

Catherine nodded, and fell silent.

What to say now? Harry wanted to ask her about her work, but that was a touchy subject. Discussing her films inevitably put her on the defensive, and she bristled at any mention of Fabian, her long-time partner. He knew she was simply trying to protect herself, remembering years of Harry doggedly trying to dissuade her from following her passions, and he felt guilty for having been the cause of such anxiety in her life. It wouldn't do to raise the specter of his failings as a father so early in their dinner, but at the same time, he didn't want to gush on about Ruth and the baby. That left a paltry few safe topics of conversation for him.

Luckily he was saved from any further unpleasantness by the timely arrival of Ruth, who came rushing into the kitchen with an apologetic look on her face. She was radiant tonight; she'd brought a dress to change into, soft and black, casual and cut to emphasize, rather than conceal the curves he loved so dearly. At almost seven months gone, there was no hiding the size of her stomach, or the swell of her breasts straining against the top of her dress, but she looked rather demure, her expression warm and open, her hair freshly washed and dried and falling around her face in a gentle wave. In that moment Harry very much wanted to go and wrap his arms around her, pull her close and kiss the sweet skin of her neck, but he restrained himself for Catherine's sake. Such a display would only put her ill at ease, and likely raise Ruth's ire in the process.

"Hi," Ruth said, stopping short when she caught sight of Catherine.

For a moment silence reigned in the kitchen. Harry had taken the flowers from Catherine and deposited them in a vase, and was currently standing by the sink, holding the vase tightly and watching with bated breath as his daughter and his lover got their first look at one another. What must Catherine be thinking now? He wondered, watching her face closely for signs of any imminent outbursts. Ruth was far too young for him he knew, and he was certain his daughter would agree. Surely she wasn't quite what Catherine was expecting, given the stories he knew his ex-wife had shared regarding his previous liaisons. Ruth was gentle and kind, and it showed on every inch of her face, lined from the stress of her life, but still soft and warm. Juliet had carried something of the predator about her, a jungle cat forever stalking its prey, and so too had Elena; the others, all the nameless, now faceless women who checkered his past had been ruthless, almost aggressive, matching him in their ambition and their drive. Ruth was another sort of woman entirely, and he hoped that Catherine would see that, and approve of what she saw.

"You must be Ruth," Catherine said finally, rising from her chair and crossing the kitchen to offer her hand in greeting.

Ruth took it gratefully, giving her a hesitant smile. "It's so lovely to meet you Catherine. I've heard so much about you."

This wasn't entirely a lie; Harry _had_ told Ruth about Catherine's life abroad, about his fears for her, about how fiercely proud she made him, but there was so much more he hadn't said. He hadn't spoken of exactly how he'd fallen out of her life, of the guilt he carried, of how deeply his own daughter mistrusted him. Catherine's eyes flickered briefly from Harry to Ruth, and he knew in that moment that her thoughts had followed much the same path as his own.

"Catherine brought these for you, darling," he said.

Ruth's mouth fell open, and for his part, Harry very nearly dropped the vase he'd been holding. Until this moment he had never once referred to Ruth in such a way; he used similar endearments with his daughter, but that was a habit that had begun when she was small, when he was still young and life had not yet hardened their hearts toward one another. Ruth was another case entirely. In quiet moments, with her head pillowed on his chest and the steady sound of her breathing filling his ears he had wondered how she might respond, should he ever use such a word with her, and always he had assumed that she wouldn't like it. Ruth was the sort of woman who liked being referred to by her name, thank you very much, and he couldn't believe he'd just done that.

For just an instant Ruth stared daggers at him, but she recovered quickly. No doubt he'd hear more about that later, but for now she was focused on Catherine, likely wanting to salvage the moment and make as a good an impression as she could manage.

"They're just lovely, Catherine. That was very thoughtful of you."

Catherine gave her a quick, tight-lipped smile in response, and the silence returned.

"Would anyone like a drink?" Harry asked, a little desperately.

* * *

"The situation in Syria is grim, and only getting grimmer," Catherine said, leaning back against her chair with a glass of wine in her hand. "I was in Damascus two years ago, until someone decided it was time for me to come home." She shot Harry a look that somehow managed to be both exasperated and affectionate, and Ruth smiled to see it. Though they had gotten off to a bit of a rough start, she had discovered that the conversation flowed quite well, so long as they kept away from discussing anything even remotely personal. Catherine shared her father's intense, passionate nature, and Ruth found she rather liked the girl.

"Ah yes, he told me about that," Ruth said, giving Harry a warm little smile. They had both teased him a bit over the course of the evening, but she felt he deserved it, after his little display earlier. _Darling_ , indeed! She didn't quite know what to make of that; was he trying to convince his daughter that they were a perfectly normal, happy couple, or had the word simply slipped out, his own affection for her showing its face when his guard was down? There was a part of her that bristled at the thought of him laying claim to her in such a way, but there was also a part of her that preened to hear him refer to her so warmly _._

"Did he tell you about how one of his goons punched Fabian in the face, when we refused to leave?" Catherine asked shrewdly.

"No, he didn't," Ruth responded. She didn't recall that particular detail, but considering the fact that Harry had told her about it while they had been lying in bed together after a particularly draining round of love making during which he'd made her come an alarming _five_ times, Ruth's recollections of the story were rather vague.

"It's not as if I told him to do it," Harry protested.

They all chuckled a bit at that, and the conversation lapsed once more. So far they had been doing quite well at avoiding those tense little silences, but to a person they were rapidly running out of topics to discuss.

"So, are you two planning to get married?" Catherine asked after a time, watching them carefully over the rim of her wine glass. She was one cool customer, was Harry's daughter; Ruth got the sense that the girl had been waiting for the pair of them to let their guard down, to relax and open up to her before she sprang the trap.

"We haven't really discussed it," Ruth answered carefully, not wanting to go into the details of Harry's two wildly different proposals. "We've decided that it would be best for all of us if we lived together, once the baby comes, and we've started work on the nursery."

"Can I see it?" Catherine asked eagerly.

"I'm afraid there's not much to see at present," Harry told her truthfully. "The furniture will be delivered next weekend. Maybe you can come back, once we have everything set up."

He sounded so bloody hopeful, and Ruth's heart went out to him. The love he had for the peanut was no more and no less than the love he bore for Catherine, both of them his daughters, his little girls, so near and dear to his heart, and Ruth knew that Harry dearly wished to find a way to bring Catherine back into his life. They'd made progress, the two of them, in the years since the November Committee incident, but Harry had confided to Ruth that before they'd met for coffee all those weeks ago, Harry had only seen his daughter in person twice, and one of those time has been when he'd gone to fetch her from a Hezbollah hospital after she'd very nearly gotten herself killed. His invitation, as innocuous as it seemed, was his attempt at bringing them together again, and she hoped for his sake that it would work.

"I'd like that," Catherine said. "Have you chosen a name?"

At this Harry and Ruth exchanged a rueful look. Harry was stuck on Sophia, Ruth changed her mind on an almost hourly basis, and they were still no closer to finding a name for the peanut.

"I'll take that as a no," Catherine laughed.

How very like Harry she was, Ruth mused. The girl was insightful and perceptive, and she had quickly learned how to translate their poignant little glances, immediately grasping this unspoken method of communication that served them so well. No one else had ever quite worked out their private language, but it seemed fitting that Harry's daughter would see straight through their attempt at being discrete.

"Oh, Christ is that the time?" Catherine exclaimed suddenly, having taken the lull in conversation as an opportunity to glance at her mobile. "I'm so sorry, I have to go meet Fabian." She rose from the table in a hurry, and Harry and Ruth followed suit, though Ruth was moving much, much slower.

"Bring him with you, the next time you come round," Harry suggested, standing there rather awkwardly with his hands swinging uselessly by his side. From just one look Ruth could tell he very much wanted to embrace his daughter, but he was holding himself back, unsure how such a gesture might be received.

"I will," Catherine promised. She hesitated for a moment, and then hugged him quickly.

"It was lovely to meet you Ruth," she said as her father gruffly ushered her towards the door.

"And you," Ruth replied earnestly.

She heard Harry and Catherine speaking quietly to one another, heard the door open and shut, and all the while she stood in the kitchen, staring at her flowers and smiling softly to herself. She had met Harry's daughter, and it hadn't been a total disaster.

 _Imagine that,_ she thought.

Two warm, strong arms wrapped around her from behind, and she smiled as she felt Harry's hands come to rest against her stomach, felt his lips make contact with her neck.

"Stay with me?" he murmured.

"Of course," she said. " _Darling."_


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: I feel like some of you (you know who you are) are not going to be pleased with this chapter, but I beg your patience.**

* * *

After, when their need for one another had been sated and Harry had fallen into a deep, blissful sleep, Ruth slipped out from beneath the heavy arm that pinned her to the mattress, and padded silently down the hall to his guest bath. She turned the water as hot as she could stand, and sat on the edge of the tub, waiting for it to fill, thinking hard.

Their dinner with Catherine had gone better than she could have expected, and afterward Harry had been as attentive and utterly thorough in his affections as she had ever known him to be. Her whole body was still tingling from his attentions, her legs still somewhat wobbly and unwilling to hold her upright for more than a moment, but her mind was running a mile a minute. Ruth had been right on the very edge of sleep herself when a strange thought had occurred to her. Tonight marked two weeks, since she had fallen into Harry's bed once again. Over the last fortnight she had stayed over at his home four times, and he'd gone round to hers once; though the circumstances and the quantity of their love making differed from that of their original tryst, the time frame still seemed to her to be rather significant. They'd only managed to survive together for two weeks, the last time, before the differences in their personalities and the bitter truth of their lives pulled them away from one another, and now that they had once again reached this milestone, she wondered when, or if, the other shoe would drop.

He had been rather solicitous towards her, cooking her meals and buying things for the peanut and making room for them in his home, but how long could she expect such behavior to continue? The idea of him denying his own desires and spending all of his energies on serving her made Ruth deeply uncomfortable. She didn't want him to feel as if he owed her such servitude, and she r _eally_ didn't want him to feel as if he could not speak his mind around her. How long could they possibly hope to survive together, if they were not being honest with one another?

When the bath was ready, Ruth slipped beneath the water, sighing heavily as she felt some of the tension leave her aching muscles. If only her worries could be relieved so easily.

On top of her concerns about Harry and the possible falsehood of his rather indulgent behavior towards her, she was deeply concerned about Lucas. Harry refused to engage her on the topic; he would not argue with her, as he might have done if they were faced with this uncertainty a year ago, before Ros, before the peanut, before they'd ever slept together, but likewise he would not listen to her, and his blatant apathy on the subject left her feeling rather vexed with him. Pregnancy had not dulled her mind (though it had wrought havoc with her emotions), and she keenly felt the sting of his lack of trust in her.

And then, buried beneath her more immediate problems, there were darker things lurking. Already Harry had tried to draw her out of her protective cocoon of privacy, asking about her miscarriage and also, in a way, about George. How much longer would he wait, she wondered, before he began to ask other questions? He had tried once before, to get a straight answer from her with regards to her relationship with Peter, and though he had failed spectacularly at the time, she knew he would eventually try again. And who could blame him, for asking questions about her past? Had she not done the same, the night she'd asked him about Juliet? That was what lovers did; they shared their pasts, their pain, their doubts, shouldered the burden of grief, carried one another through. In his heart Harry was a rather old-fashioned sort, and she knew he would expect such honesty from her, should their relationship continue. And oh, how she dreaded it.

 _A heart is a heavy burden,_ she mused. She'd read that in a book once, a children's fantasy novel she'd purchased as a gift for the daughter of an old friend from Oxford. She got bored on the train, riding down to see them, and read it herself before neatly tucking the book back in the fantastically colored gift bag. It was a pleasant way to wile away a few hours on a train, and that one line had stayed with her over the intervening years. Her own heart was a heavy burden indeed, and she wasn't quite sure Harry would be able to stand beneath the weight of it. He had his own burdens to bear.

Around her the water grew tepid, and still she did not move. She was comfortable here, in the darkness, and there was no Harry to hold her down, no hand resting against her stomach, laying claim to the precious burden housed within, no voice whispering _darling_ in her ear while she fretted.

 _Am I his darling?_ She wondered. When the word had first passed his lips she'd resolved to speak to him about it the moment Catherine departed, but then he'd distracted her with his hands brushing over her skin, and all the accusations had vanished from her in an instant. It set her ill at ease, that little word. Ruth had never warmed to the language of possession so often passed back and forth between lovers, and diminutives (like the abominable _Ruthie)_ had always set her teeth on edge and raised her ire. She was no man's _little woman,_ no _sweetheart_ , and certainly not a God damn _baby;_ she had walked through hell itself, had faced down death and destruction and the end of the world. She spoke more languages than could be counted on two hands, had hacked foreign intelligence services and come back from the dead, and she had reached this point on her terms, accepting the occasional offer of help, but never allowing something as banal as the desires of her romantic partners to limit her potential. Should Harry ever ask her to step back, should he ever try to assume control of her life, she would fight tooth and nail to reclaim her independence.

But would he ever do such a thing? He was an old-fashioned sort, certainly, but he was _Harry_ , and he had known her first as his employee, a first-rate analyst, a born spook. Surely he would trust her enough not to try to tame her.

If only she _knew_ , if only she could be certain as to his intentions, if only she could see where they were headed. She had not been blessed with the gift of foresight, however, only burdened with an astronomical intelligence and a gift for conjuring up the very worst scenarios, and a deeply ingrained habit of bolting before the fruits of her fears ever ripened. Better to run when things were going well, than linger until they fell apart.

She stayed in the bath until her skin turned soft and wrinkly and goosebumps began to rise on her flesh. Carefully she eased herself up and out of the tub, and made her way back down the hall. The thought of sliding back beneath Harry's arm, submitting to his domination over her, and a truth she could not escape even in sleep, utterly terrified her just now. Moving silent as a mouse she gathered up her clothes, tugged them on over her damp skin, and departed without a word, leaving Harry slumbering peacefully and blissfully unaware. She would call him in the morning, to explain that she just needed some space, that she was feeling claustrophobic and out of sorts. She would try again tomorrow, when the shadows of the night had burned away and the sun had risen, bringing with it the sense of calm she had only recently discovered, and only just this evening lost again.

* * *

The morning came, and Ruth rose early, having in truth not slept a wink. The night had never been a good time for her; often her thoughts turned as black as the sky outside her window, and the demons would not be still until the sun rose and banished them back into the ether. Her heart always lifted, at the rising of the sun, and though she was exhausted, she almost felt at peace as she shuffled around her room, dressing quickly in preparation for the task she had set for herself. She could face her life, in the daylight; in the darkness, she only crumbled.

It was Sunday, and the entire team was rostered off the Grid today, Harry included. He was no doubt planning to indulge himself by spending the morning in his favorite armchair, with a cup of strong black coffee and a newspaper. He liked reading the paper, did Harry; though he had never expressed his feelings on the subject to Ruth, she suspected his fondness for that particular medium stemmed less from his Luddite nature and more from the depths of his romantic soul. Reading a newspaper was a tactile, almost antique experience these days, and Harry was something of a relic himself. He took pleasure in his newspaper, and his record collection, and she could not fault him for that, she whose bookshelves burst with ancient volumes collected in secondhand stores and adored for their yellowed pages and distinctive, old-book smell. This was something they shared in common, this quiet, quixotic fondness for the outdated and anachronistic.

Beth was still asleep, and so Ruth moved as quietly as she could, locking the door behind her and going down to her car. Before she pulled away from her building it occurred to her that she had decided to ring Harry first thing in the morning, not wanting to worry him unnecessarily, but the thought of spoiling her rather light-hearted mood by engaging him in a discussion of the various reasons why she had chosen to leave him the night before was deeply unpleasant. Instead she sent him a text message, frowning a little as she did, remembering a time not so very long ago when that simple task would have been quite beyond her. _I'm fine. Needed to go home. Will call later. All is well._ Message sent, she tucked her mobile back in her bag, and set off for the Grid.

Traffic was almost nonexistent, this early on a Sunday morning, and the security guard who waved her through the metal detectors at Thames House greeted her with a robust and utterly remorseless yawn. The Grid was calm and quiet; not empty, never empty, but certainly less chaotic than when her team was in residence. At any given time there were dozens of operations of varying levels of importance taking place, a bevy of surveillance teams and techies and analysts working round the clock to keep the realm and its inhabitants safe from harm. The forgery suite was reserved for Tariq and his team, however, and since they were currently enjoying a well-earned day of rest, there was no one about to see Ruth slip behind one of the monitors and power up the program that catalogued CCTV feeds from all around the city.

Ruth set to work, humming softly to herself, pulling up the feeds from St Thomas's Hospital last Thursday, and scrolling through until she reached the late afternoon. There were four cameras that offered a view of the entrance and the car park, and Ruth opened all four feeds on one monitor, watching them side-by-side, and waiting for the familiar form of Lucas North to come prowling across them. For nearly an hour she watched those four little windows, but she saw no sign of him. There were a few instants when she thought she might have spotted him, mixed in with a crowd, but the more she tried to enlarge the image the fuzzier it became, and she was not blessed with any certainty.

She sighed, rolled her shoulders, and picked another day, another time, and set to it again.

This sort of work required time and patience; in some instances she had thirty minutes' worth of footage to review, and she could not afford to fast-forward through any of it, less she miss some sign of her quarry in the rush of images on the screen. About three hours into her work, she finally made some progress; she caught sight of Lucas, with his arm around a dark haired woman, exiting the hospital. Lucas was keeping his head down, trying to angle the woman away from the cameras with his body, but unbeknownst to him one of the cameras had been knocked awry on its axis by a furious storm the night before, and Ruth saw him, plain as day, for no more than a second or two. She resisted the urge to throw her hands up in the air and shout in jubilation, instead freezing the image and running off a copy to show to Harry on Monday.

Or, she would have shown it to Harry on Monday, had he not been waiting by the copy machine with the photo in his hands by the time she reached it.

For several seconds they simply stared at one another, Ruth confused and a little bit frightened, Harry visibly angry but trying to keep his temper in check. He had all these little tells, known only to Ruth; there was a certain set to his mouth, a certain tension in his stance, that spoke volumes to her about his current mood.

"Harry?" she said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same," he responded, motioning towards her with the photograph in his hand.

"Harry-"

"I thought I told you that I would handle this, in my own way," he told her in a dangerously quiet voice. She bristled at both his tone and his words; how _dare_ he speak to her in such a way? All the fears that had consumed her the night before, about his wanting to own her, to control her, came barreling back to the surface.

"And how are you _handling_ this?" she asked, not even trying to keep the anger out of her voice. "From where I'm sitting it doesn't look like you're doing anything at all."

He thrust his jaw out, pugnacious as a boxer, and for the first time in months Ruth saw the old Harry, the one who demanded absolute, unquestioning obedience, rather than the one who cooked her dinner and offered to rub her swollen feet.

"It's not your job to question my methods, Ruth," he told her, while she thought _oh yes it bloody is,_ but before she could protest he continued, "you just have to trust me."

"Oh, that's rich, Harry. You want me to trust you, but you won't extend me the same courtesy. How did you even know I would be here today?"

He was clearly thrown by her question, taken aback by the sudden shift in their conversation. Ruth had it in her mind to be worried that Beth might have said something to him, but his lack of a ready answer put those concerns to rest.

"If you must know," he said with a heavy sigh, "I had Tariq run a trace on your mobile."

Rage such as Ruth had not known for months filled her; she fairly trembled with it. That he should be concerned about her, upon waking to find her gone, was certainly understandable, but he had neither called nor texted. He had gone straight to Tariq, evidently trusting the young man enough to spy on Ruth, but not enough to include him in their surveillance of Lucas. It was a breach of privacy of the highest order, and it made Ruth's flesh crawl to think that this man who had already taken so much from her could, at will, track her down and try to bring her to heel. The peanut had never felt like such a heavy burden, buried beneath Ruth's skin, as she did in that moment.

"I don't believe this," she said, taking a step back from him, wary as a deer caught in the gaze of some terrible predator.

"Ruth-"

"How could you?" her tone was venomous, but she would not apologize for it. He did not trust her, might never trust her, would not include her in his schemes, and had betrayed her confidence in him. Every inch of ground they had tentatively gained in the last few months seemed to vanish in an instant, leaving nothing but a vast, empty chasm echoing between them.

"How could _you_?" he echoed in a soft voice. "How could you leave, and not tell me why?"

Ruth wasn't prepared to have this conversation with him now, not when her heart was breaking and her stomach was roiling. She launched herself forward, snatched the photo from his hand, and started toward the door. In his anger Harry forgot himself, and caught her by the wrist; the touch of his hand, which only the night before had set her heart to pounding with desire, filled her with disgust now, and she wrenched herself away. He let her go, seeming to realize his mistake too late.

"Don't," she said in a voice that was soft but cold. "Don't."

And just like that she left him, her vision clouded by tears of anger and guilt and frustration. He stood alone on the Grid, watching her leave, and for once she had no idea what he was thinking.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm sorry! Please hang in there, we've got a long way to go yet. And, for those of you not howling in rage at the moment, the quote _a heart is a heavy burden_ comes from _Howl's Moving Castle_ , a young adult novel by the fortuitously named Diana Wynne Jones.**


	39. Chapter 39

Beth knew something was wrong the moment Ruth came stomping through the front door. Usually Ruth was quiet as a mouse, toeing off her shoes and slipping into the kitchen without a single unnecessary sound, but today she slammed the door behind her, and her every step echoed throughout the flat, a cacophony of rage that set Beth ill at ease before she ever saw her flatmate. When Ruth appeared, her eyes were red and puffy, and her hands were clenched in fists by her sides.

"Ruth?" Beth asked with some trepidation.

Ruth did not answer right away; instead she reached into her coat pocket, produced a crumpled sheet of paper, and thrust it under Beth's nose.

"I need you to run this woman through facial recognition tomorrow," Ruth said shortly, turning to walk away the moment Beth took the photograph. "And for the love of God, don't let Harry or Lucas see you," she added over her shoulder. Just like that Ruth was gone, leaving a very confused Beth staring at the spot she'd so recently vacated, wondering what in the hell was going on.

The photo was grainy, but it clearly showed Lucas with his arm around a pretty, dark-haired woman. Whatever else had happened today, Ruth's CCTC search had apparently been successful. While Beth was relieved to finally have a lead, she was absolutely terrified of the change in Ruth's mood. They had enjoyed a rather pleasant few weeks, with the exception of the day Ruth went out to see her mother and came home weepy and distant. Only the day before Ruth had gone with Harry to purchase all the odds and ends they needed for the peanut's nursery, and she'd seemed excited at the prospect. What had changed?

There was one rather obvious explanation that came to Beth as she sat sprawled out on the sofa; Ruth had also met Harry's daughter the day before, and though she'd tried to be sneaky about it, Beth knew her flatmate had come home late, rather than spend the night with her lover as she had done so often over the last few weeks. Perhaps the mysterious Catherine had said something to incense her? Perhaps Harry had?

 _What the hell is wrong with these people?_ Beth wondered, shaking her head to herself as she went to tuck the photo away in her bag. It all seemed so simple from where she was standing, but if there was one thing she had learned over her years in the intelligence business, it was that no relationship is truly comprehensible from the outside. There were always so many secrets, even between the most innocuous-seeming lovers, and without having been privy to all those quiet revelations she could never truly hope to understand. Whatever had passed between Harry and Ruth, she dearly hoped they'd get it sorted soon; it seemed to Beth that the pair of them were only truly happy when they were with one another, and it seemed to her that they deserved every moment of that happiness.

And speaking of happiness, who the hell was that woman under Lucas's arm? He'd never mentioned having anyone in his life; the way he spoke, Beth had always assumed he had no one at all. No parents, no siblings, no lover, no friends; _no man is an island, save for Lucas bloody North_ , she'd thought. Now though, she saw the way he held this woman, saw the expressions on their faces, and she doubted. Could it be that Lucas was simply trying to steal a bit of happiness for himself, slipping off to see this woman in private, wanting to keep one part of his life safe from the prying eyes of MI-5? The process of vetting potential lovers had been explained to Beth in great detail during her training, and she'd found the entire concept incredibly distasteful, no matter how necessary it might be. Perhaps Lucas had wanted to spare the woman the indignity of submitting to such an invasion of privacy.

 _Or maybe he's afraid of what we would find, should we ever look into her background._

Running the search would be simple enough; Tariq had showed her how to access all the systems, being the sort of tech wizard who took an almost childlike delight in explaining complex computer nonsense to those less versed in the inner workings of his world of code and circuit boards. She could run the program from her own station, and no one would know, so long as they didn't look at her monitor. If Harry's mood tomorrow were anything like Ruth's today, he would likely spend the whole day pouting inside his office. Lucas would be harder to hide from; he still didn't particularly trust her, and was always keen to know what she was working on. She'd need to find some way to distract him, but that seemed to her to be a problem for Monday morning. Right now, she had more pressing concerns, like what the bloody hell was wrong with Ruth.

If Ruth were anyone else, Beth would go to her now, knock softly on her door and ask if she wanted some tea and a friendly ear. Ruth was not just anyone, however, and though she wore her emotions on her face for all to see, getting her to talk about them was like pulling teeth. Given the way she'd sequestered herself in her room immediately upon arriving home, Beth knew it was unlikely Ruth was in any state to talk just now. She would have to wait until Ruth emerged of her own accord, and approach the subject delicately. Whatever it took, there was no way she was going to let this go, not when things had been going so well for Ruth. Sometimes people just needed a gentle nudge in the right direction, and Beth decided that the time was ripe for her to do a little nudging of her own.

* * *

As luck would have it, Dimitri was meeting an asset on Monday morning, Lucas was scheduled to go down and see the resident psychologist for his annual review, and Harry was off at Whitehall. Beth and Ruth practically had the Grid to themselves, and so Beth started up the facial recognition program at the first available opportunity, minimizing the window once it was running and pulling up some completely banal report in its place. Satisfied, she leaned back in her chair, and stole a glance at Ruth.

They had not spoken a word to each other since Ruth had come home the day before. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she kept her gaze down, refusing to engage anyone about anything. Turmoil practically rolled off of her in waves, but this was neither the time nor the place for Beth to try to draw her out of her shell. Perhaps they could order a Chinese for dinner, and over plates of noodles and chicken Beth could gently poke the bear, and see what came of it. She had almost resolved not to talk to Ruth at all, when she noticed something rather strange.

Like many pregnant women, Ruth had a tendency to touch her growing belly often, almost as if reassuring herself, or the peanut, that everything was all right. It was sort of charming, in a very clichéd sort of way, but this morning Ruth had not taken her left hand from her bump, even for a moment. As Beth watched, Ruth was typing away at her keyboard one handed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and a telephone stuck between her ear and her shoulder.

 _What's this, then?_ Beth thought, instantly on the high alert. She couldn't imagine what sort of mayhem might ensue, if something went wrong with the peanut, and she didn't even want to contemplate it. Such a prospect was too horrible for words. She tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for Ruth to end the call, eager for an opportunity to speak. After a few minutes Ruth uttered a polite farewell, and hung up.

Beth waited a beat, trying to appear as if she hadn't been eavesdropping, and then finally asked, "Is everything all right?" as nonchalantly as possible.

Ruth looked up at her sharply, her expression incredulous. Beth nodded towards her bump, and offered a little smile as Ruth began to blush.

"She's been moving nonstop all morning," Ruth answered. "It almost feels like she's upset about something. Oh, I know that's nonsense," she added hastily, "but I just wish there was something I could do to get her to settle down. It's impossible to concentrate when she's like this."

Even after all these months, it still seemed sort of strange to Beth, to think that there was a tiny little person in there. But the peanut was very real, with little fingers and little toes and the ability to make her presence known at any given time. _Could_ some of Ruth's uneasiness have translated itself to her daughter? It didn't really seem likely, but Beth wasn't exactly an expert in these matters. Before she could respond, however, Harry made his appearance on the Grid, and Ruth's face clouded over, her gaze snapping back to her computer so quickly that it left Beth feeling rather dizzy. Harry's office door was not the sort that could be slammed effectually, but when Beth chanced a look in his direction she could feel the anger emanating off of him in waves, and when he entered his office and shut the blinds, it had much the same effect. He was cross, and not afraid to show it.

 _This is going to be a horrible day,_ Beth thought grimly.

* * *

Seeing Harry again, after their little explosion the day before, made Ruth feel more exhausted than anything else. Some of her anger had cooled; she was still equal parts furious and terrified at the way he had so cavalierly invaded her privacy, but she was just so bloody _tired_ of this endless falling together and falling apart. He had been a comfort to her, over these last few months, and she missed his steady presence in her life. That she both missed him and felt cross with him at the same time was a contradiction she was struggling to come to terms with, and the thought of continuing on this way was intolerable to her.

If she were someone else, someone younger, braver, less broken, she might have it out with him. She might go to him and explain the whole thing, her doubts, her fears, Peter, George, everything. She might tell him that she loved him and that she was furious with him, and wait for his answer. She might fight for him, for them. That had never been her way, before. Always before when a relationship reached the stage where she was forced to open her mouth and declare the truth of her heart, she had simply turned and walked away, rather than face it. Who would want to stay with her, after hearing all of that? What man would want to know that his lover would always doubt his feelings for her, would always need reassurance, no matter how strident he had been in his affections? Ruth confused herself sometimes; she could only imagine how Harry must be feeling.

The strangest thing was, there was a part of her that _did_ want to fight for him. There was a part of her that whispered _go to him_ as she sat there on the Grid, immobile behind her desk, the peanut turning summersaults inside her belly. _It's different this time and you know it,_ her heart seemed to say. _Be brave, for once._

She wasn't ready for this, not yet, not now. But maybe one day, maybe one day soon, she would be.

* * *

After nearly four hours of running the program, Beth finally had a name to go with the face on the crumpled photo. She compiled all the available information on one Doctor Maya Lahan, doing her best to cover her tracks as she went. Doctor Lahan had no criminal background, and as far as Beth could see, she had no reason to ever have come into contact with Lucas North. They hadn't attended the same University, Lucas had never been treated at her hospital, she'd never been involved in an MI-5 operation, and they lived in different neighborhoods. Without Harry's approval they could not run surveillance on the woman, and without more surveillance, they couldn't be sure where she factored into all of this. She was stymied once again, and she was bloody furious about it.

* * *

For the rest of the week, they avoided one another. In briefings Ruth deliberately chose to sit as far away from him as possible, and watched the eyes of each member of their team bouncing back and forth between them like spectators at a tennis match, concern radiating off of them, their silence telling in its absoluteness. Harry spent more time than usual alone in his office, and he had taken to using Dimitri as an intermediary between him and Ruth, no doubt because Beth would have bristled if she had been given such a task and Lucas would have gotten that disapproving sort of look on his face and Tariq would have wanted to know _why._ Dimitri did as he was bid, always offering a boyish, apologetic smile each time he came to her with some new directive from their esteemed leader. The juvenility of it set Ruth's teeth on edge, but she did not protest. If this was how he wanted to play things, then so be it.

She was due for an appointment with Doctor Peters on Friday, and when the time came, she left without saying good-bye to Harry. Before their falling out they had discussed whether or not he'd be able to attend, as he had for each appointment since the amnio. He bloody well knew where she was going, and she wasn't about to stop into his office and beg his Lordship's leave _._ It was an unkind thought, and she regretted it the moment it occurred to her. When had she grown so bitter towards him? Just last week she'd happily shared his bed; why couldn't things go back to the way they were?

The bus ride was lonely, and the waiting room lonelier still. She wasn't the only woman waiting alone that day, but she felt the weight of the empty seat beside her most keenly. No matter how cross they might be with one another, he was still the peanut's father, and Ruth had begun to worry about where they were going to go from here. Was she still welcome in his home, once the peanut came? The furniture was all set to arrive at his tomorrow, she realized glumly. They'd been talking about paint and hanging pictures and buying baby things, and now he was sending Dimitri to deliver his messages. Funny, how much things could change in just a few days.

Ruth's name was called, and Doctor Peters ushered her back into the examination room, chatting merrily all the way.

"Where's Henry today?" she asked pleasantly.

Ruth's heart sank like a stone, but before she could respond the man himself appeared, slightly out of breath and with a face like a thundercloud, but present nonetheless. Her heart gave a great leap in her chest and she all but collapsed against the table; the dizziness had returned, over the last few weeks, and she wasn't up to surprises, just now.

"Sorry I'm late," he said gruffly, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Traffic."

"Right," Doctor Peters said somewhat uncertainly, glancing back and forth between the pair of them and no doubt sensing the tension in the air. "Well, you're here now, so let's get started."

She checked Ruth's measurements, and did another scan, assuring them both that the peanut was fine, and growing at a good rate. Doctor Peters reviewed the list of possible symptoms Ruth could expect, at the beginning of her seventh month: Braxton Hicks contractions, shortness of breath, fatigue, dizziness, tenderness of the breasts; the list went on and on, and Ruth nodded in agreement with each one she recognized, which to be honest, was all of them. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry's eyes widen slightly, as he realized all the discomfort and frustration she was dealing with at present.

"There are two important things we need to discuss now. The first is your birth plan; it's a good idea to start thinking about what sort of labor experience you would like to have, so we can plan accordingly. I have some literature to go over with you on the subject, and we'll get to that shortly. The other is that, given this is a high-risk pregnancy, we will be increasing your visits to every two weeks. We had previously discussed your staying at work until you reach 32 weeks and I see no reason you can't continue to work for now, but you need to avoid stress wherever possible."

It was at this point that Harry and Ruth exchanged a long, rather meaningful look. Harry had been insistent that the Grid was much too stressful an environment for her, Ruth had been insistent that she could handle it, and the rather oblivious Doctor Peters believed her to be a P.A. on the Home Office, and so could not be called upon to settle the matter for them.

"Am I missing something here?" Doctor Peters asked shrewdly. Ruth's eyes snapped back to her guiltily; she hadn't intended for them to be so obvious.

"Louisa and I appear to have a difference of opinion about what constitutes stress," Harry said dryly.

Doctor Peters chuckled. "That's more common than you'd think. Fathers always seem to think their partners ought to spend the entirety of the pregnancy in bed. I can assure you, Louisa is quite healthy, all things considered, and you'd be amazed what the human body can endure."

They shared another telling glance at that. No one knew how much the human body could withstand quite like two spooks who have witnessed the devastation wrought by professional torturers. The scars on Harry's chest were silent testament to his own personal resiliency. Ruth felt a wave of sadness wash over her, as she looked at him. The life they led was so far removed from the every day experiences of their peers, and it was at times like this she was sharply reminded that no one would ever understand her the way this quiet, broken man did.

* * *

Armed with all sort of pamphlets about natural births and midwives and birthing classes, Ruth allowed Harry to shuffle her off to his car after the appointment. She'd missed him terribly, these last few days, and she had come to accept his betrayal in a way. Harry was constantly, cripplingly worried about her and her safety, and her message had come to him rather later than she'd originally. It wasn't her preferred method of communication, and a text message sent to Sam Buxton years and years ago had very nearly spelled the end of Ruth's life. She could only imagine what he'd felt, waking to find her gone and nothing but a text to tell him why. It was understandable, when viewed in a certain light, that his first thought would have been to find her as quickly possible, and ask forgiveness later. She was still cross, certainly, but not nearly so cross as she had been before she'd taken the time to consider his feelings.

As they rode along she stole glances at him out of the corner of her eye; his anger seemed to have faded, as well. He just looked tired, and she sympathized with him in that regard. She was always tired, these days.

He did not speak as he drove, and nor did she, alternating between watching him and watching the road. It occurred to her after several minutes that he was driving them down the rather familiar roads that led to his own home, rather than to hers. For a moment she considered protesting, but she held her tongue. Perhaps the time had come to have that little chat she'd been dreading.

 _Be brave,_ her heart whispered. _Be brave._


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: Holy hell, y'all, this is chapter 40! I can't believe we've made it this far. We've got a ways to go yet, but as always I am grateful to you for sticking with me, and I hope you continue to enjoy this little adventure.**

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Harry still wasn't speaking, as he let them into his house, as he locked the door behind him, as he leaned down to scratch Scarlet behind her ear. With each passing second Ruth's apprehension only grew; she didn't know what he was thinking, and as always her mind was running wild, imagining horrible scenario after horrible scenario. _He wants me gone, wants me off the Grid, he never wants to see me again._ Without a word he turned his back on her, and made his way to the kitchen, and Ruth followed along in his footsteps, hanging her head and thinking hard.

There was a chance, however small, that she could salvage this night. There was a chance, if she were willing to take the risk, that she could fix this. Being with Harry would require more from her than she'd ever given to any other lover, and she had to ask herself as she walked through his house if he were worth it. Was he worth the pain of opening old wounds? Was forgiving him now worth the risk of having him betray her again in the future? She thought about the way he held her, thought about the way he looked when he smiled at her, thought about the way she felt when she heard him speaking quietly to the peanut, and found the answer she was seeking. If anyone had ever been worth fighting for, it was Harry Pearce.

She sat at his table unbidden, and discreetly propped her swollen feet up on the chair opposite.

"Are you hungry?" Harry asked from across the room, his voice gruff and rather curt.

"I could eat," she allowed. It was clear he had something on his mind, and she wanted to delay her confession until she heard what he had to say. He could be stubborn as a mule, once he'd made up his mind about something, and she needed to know which Harry she was dealing with tonight. Grid Harry and Home Harry were two different people, in her mind, and they required two different approaches from her.

Harry grunted a bit at her response, and started pulling food out of the cabinets. As she watched him, she wondered why she wasn't angry with him. If anything, seeing him shuffle around the kitchen with his adorable pout firmly in place only filled her with affection. He had come to the appointment, despite their having not really talked to one another for almost a week, and then he had driven her home and offered to cook her supper, and the fact that he was still willing to try, however disgruntled he might be, eased her worries somewhat. One fight, however heated, didn't have to spell the end of things between them, did it? They argued on the Grid fairly regularly, and yet they always managed to work together in the end.

"I'm not going to apologize," he said quietly, his back turned towards her as he stood at the counter chopping up a pile of vegetables.

He had said those words to her before, she realized.

 _I won't apologize for any of it…I don't regret a moment of it, even knowing how things turned out._

For a moment she was thrown back to that night, when he'd come round to her flat after she'd broken his heart on the rooftop. At the time she'd been so devastated, thinking that they'd thrown away their only chance at being together, and knowing he still felt so strongly about her had only served to hammer home the guilt she felt over how she'd handled things between them. She remembered how his words had filled her with grief then, and pondered how to respond to him now.

A part of her was angry, to hear him say he wasn't sorry for tracing her phone, for using his power to violate her privacy. A larger part of her understood what he truly meant, beneath his rather harsh words. They weren't like other people. Ordinary people, upon finding their lovers gone, might feel confusion or anger. Harry felt only dread, certain that once again someone he loved had been taken from him, ripped violently away, never to return. And in a way he was justified in his paranoia; it had happened too often, over the course of his life. The course of _their_ lives. Ruth saw a dark SUV on the street and her heart rate skyrocketed and her hands started to shake. Harry heard an Irish accent in a pub and had to get up and leave, immediately. These were the invisible scars they bore, hidden beneath the surface of their skin, intangible but very, very real.

"I should have called," she said finally. "I shouldn't have sent a text, I should have thought it through."

 _I should have remembered what happened the last time_ , she added silently in her mind. The hours she'd spent tied to Andrew's bannister had faded in her mind, overshadowed by more recent traumas, but she realized with a start that she had never really spoken to Harry about the incident, and she had no idea how much it affected him. She'd assumed he remembered, but maybe she was wrong-

"All I could think about was that day when you were taken, when we almost missed the signs. If it hadn't been for Danny…" Harry's voice was soft, and only grew softer as he spoke, until finally he trailed off completely, unable or unwilling to finish his sentence. That answered that, then; he _did_ remember, and she was right in her interpretation of his mental state. This discovery gave her confidence a little boost; he was still her Harry, and she still knew him just as well as she always had.

There was the sizzling sound of chicken being dropped into a hot pan, and for a time they did not speak, as Harry continued to faff around with supper, and Ruth worried the hem of her blouse between her fingers. The tracking of her mobile was only one cause of their falling out, and she was loath to bring up the other. He was utterly irrational where Lucas was concerned, and she was absolutely bloody furious that he had doubted her professional judgment. The personal was one thing; Ruth was a mess when it came to personal relationships, and she knew it, and did not fault him for pointing it out. Professionally, though, he had always relied on her, and she would not tolerate his distrust of her on the Grid.

Beth had managed to track down Maya Lahan, Lucas's apparent paramour, but they did not have nearly enough information on her, and they would need Harry's approval to find out where she factored into all of this. Ruth would need Harry on her side, in her corner, the way he always had been, but if he was still cross with her for going behind her back, she could not count on his support.

"About Lucas-"

"I don't want to talk about bloody Lucas," he grumbled. She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.

"We have to talk about bloody Lucas, because this isn't about him at all, Harry. This is about you not trusting me-"

"This is about me wanting to protect you!" He spun around, eyes flashing, pointing a wooden spoon at her like a dagger. "There are some things I can't tell you, Ruth, and you know that. Not because I don't want to, not because I don't trust you, but because I _can't._ What's happening with Lucas is one of those things. I appreciate your concerns about him, but-"

"Is he running some sort of shadow op for you?" If Harry wanted to keep interrupting her, he was going to get a taste of his own medicine, she decided. What was it about this man that made her want to slap him and kiss him in almost equal measure? Infuriating and sexy and adorable and powerful and comforting and terrifying; that was Harry Pearce, a study in contradictions, a puzzle she would forever be trying to piece together.

Harry sighed, and turned his attentions back to supper. "No," he said, and by the slump of his shoulders she assumed he was telling the truth.

"You really believe you have this situation in hand?" she asked carefully.

"Yes."

"And you really believe things will go easier if Beth and I steer clear of this?"

"Yes."

"And this has nothing to do with Cotterdam?"

There was a clatter as Harry dropped the bowl he'd been holding. In all the time she'd been back, that word had never once been spoken between them. It was a nightmare, a shadow of a shadow, a pain never to be brought to light again. No one else on the Grid now would knew what it meant, what it had cost them. No one else would ever understand the pain of _something wonderful that was never said,_ of two long years spent in isolation and doubt, of the sacrifices made and the opportunities lost. They did not even want to face it themselves, Harry and Ruth, did not want to admit all the shattered dreams and fractured hopes that was the life they could have had, if it weren't for Cotterdam. In her mind Ruth thought of the word like a curse, heavy and unbreakable, something from one of the ancient Greek tragedies she loved so well.

And yet. Even after ten years of wandering, Odysseus found his way back to Penelope, and even after a decade of waiting for his return, Penelope had not loved another. Perhaps two years was not an insurmountable obstacle.

"Is that what you think?" Harry asked quietly.

"If I'd listened to you then, and given up my investigation into Maudsley, maybe I never would have left. Maybe we would have…" she lost her voice for a moment. That was one _maybe_ she still could not bring herself to speak aloud. "I thought maybe this was your way of shutting me out, keeping me from making the same mistake."

Harry shuffled the food around, filling the pan with vegetables and covering the lot with some sort of sauce. _Stir fry_ , she thought numbly, _he's making stir fry._

"In a way, you may be right," he said after a long moment of silence. "I am trying to protect you, Ruth. I am trying to stop you turning your inestimable talents to this particular problem, because I fear the ramifications. But it's not quite the same."

"No?" she pressed, confused. It sounded the same to her.

"This time I know more than you," he said, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a self-deprecating sort of smile. "I don't get to say that often."

He had removed his jacket upon entering the kitchen, but he still wore his tie, and he was fiddling with it absently as he spoke. Ruth was halfway across the kitchen before she realized what she was doing, but once her mind caught up with her feet, she did not stop. This was a delicate dance between them now, each of them trying to be honest while still defending themselves, but she wanted him to know that she wasn't running, this time. And so she kept on walking, until she was stood right in front of him, and she offered him a gentle smile as she reached up to untie his tie.

"I don't like this," she said softly, pulling the soft silk of the tie loose from his collar. She let the tie drop to the floor, and then undid the first two buttons of his shirt. He always said that by the end of the day he hated those bloody buttons, that they made him feel as if he couldn't breathe. "I don't like not knowing, and I don't like the thought of you dealing with this on your own."

Harry's hands came to rest on her hips, holding her close. Her own dropped to his shoulders, squeezing slightly through the soft fabric of his shirt.

"I know," he said gently. "I don't like it, either. We're a team, you and I, and I don't like it when we aren't together."

"But?" she countered, raising an eyebrow at him.

"But," he continued, "this time, I need you to keep out of it."

Ruth felt herself standing at a crossroads. She could take the familiar path, and buck his authority, insist on continuing her efforts to uncover Lucas's secrets. She was an analyst and an intelligence officer, and always in the past she had done whatever it took to find the answers she sought. Alternatively, she could do as he was asking, could trust in him, could allow him to take this risk, and relinquish her control. She wanted to protect him, he wanted to protect her, and someone needed to back down.

It might set a worrying precedent, she supposed, if she gave into his demand now. Ruth had always struggled against her lovers' attempts to exert their control over her, no matter how small the issue at hand; she had always been certain that to give in once was to lose herself completely. But Harry wasn't just her lover, he was her boss, too. He had access to more intel than she could ever dream of, and in just a few short weeks she would be off the Grid completely, maybe forever, and he would have to find a way to carry on without her there to support him.

She sighed, and buried her face in his neck. He held her close to him, all thoughts of their dinner completely forgotten as she grappled with her emotions and he waited for her response.

"Ok," she said finally, her voice no more than a whisper. "Ok."

Harry kissed the top of her head. "I hate to ask this of you. I know it isn't easy."

"Promise me you'll be careful," she said.

"I promise."

They stood thus entwined for several more moments, reveling in their renewed closeness, in the simple domesticity of having resolved this disagreement. Perhaps they would have stood there all night, neither moving an inch, breathing one another in, if Ruth had not noticed something rather unpleasant.

"Harry?" she said softly, and felt his answering hum vibrating through her chest. "Supper's burning."

"Christ!"

Ruth smiled at him fondly as he attempted to rescue their supper; there was much left for them to discuss, tonight, but they'd made a good start.


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: Ok, here we go, chapter 41 redux. For those of you who managed to read this chapter before it was taken down yesterday, most of this will seem familiar, but it is fundamentally different, and I hope it works better for the changes.**

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Supper wasn't too badly burned, in the end. Harry managed to salvage most of it, pouring the vegetables and the chicken and the sauce he'd prepared over little bowls of rice, and setting the lot of it on the table for them to eat. He poured them each a glass of water, and they ate with gusto, speaking little. There was still a delicate sort of tension in the air; while they had addressed some of their more immediate concerns, Ruth knew there was much left to be said. Harry still had questions to ask her, and she had answers still to give. Just the thought of explaining herself, her reasons for leaving him that night, made her heart flutter in her chest and set her hands to shaking; how would he respond, if he knew what she'd really been thinking? For just a little while he'd held her in his arms tonight, and she didn't want to lose that closeness with him again, so soon after having rediscovered it.

She needed to give voice to her doubts, put a name to her fears, and she knew she owed it to him, to see this through to its conclusion. Over the many years of their acquaintance, they had developed a bond of trust, built up a reliance on one another that was rather surprising, all things considered. She had come to him as an interloper, a sheep sent to spy among the wolves. She had been young, and hopeful, and scared, and naïve, a million different things all at once. And Harry had been Harry, steadfast and sure, intimidating as a boxer, powerful and almost all-knowing, in her eyes. That they had ever come to trust one another at all was a miracle in itself, but over the years that trust had grown into something more. He told her things, not just about work, but about himself, gave her little pieces of his heart for safekeeping. Harry was every inch the fearless leader, and never the sort to advertise his misgivings, but he confided in her, because underneath it all he was still just a man, and he needed reassurance, from time to time. Ruth for her part had reveled in his confidence, and sought with her every word and deed to be worthy of his faith in her.

And now here they sat, all these years later, older and wiser and sadder and just a little broken, bound together in a way that defied all explanation. Yes, she owed him her truth, because he had entrusted her with his own long ago.

As they finished their meal, and Harry gathered their bowls and cutlery, telling her quietly to sit, to relax and let him do the washing up, she could almost see the wheels in his head turning. _Is now the time?_ She imagined him asking himself. He was always so careful, was Harry, ever the skillful interrogator, waiting for his moment, choosing his words and his tone with precision. This wasn't an interrogation, however; this was their life, and she needed Home Harry now. Grid Harry would have to wait.

"Ask me what you want to ask me, Harry," she said softly, watching him intently.

He tensed for a moment, his back to her as he washed the dishes, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the powerful muscles in his forearms bunching and flexing with each move of his hands. Ruth loved his arms, loved the feel of them wrapped around her, loved the way they supported him as he moved over her, loved the way they anchored her when she curled up against his chest to sleep, loved feeling his quiet strength when she wrapped her hands around them and clung to him in her passion and her fear. He had lovely arms, did Harry; lovely arms, and lovely hands, a lovely smile, and a lovely soul. While she waited for his answer she kept her gaze focused on his arms, and tried to focus on all those fond feelings, rather than allow herself to be washed away by her own misgivings.

"Why did you leave?" he asked her finally, his words soft and uncertain. "I thought things were going rather well, and then I woke up, and you were gone."

For almost a week Ruth had been trying to prepare herself for this question, and yet she still could not quite find the words. Where should she begin? Should she go all the way back, to losing her father, to coming home one Christmas to discover that her mother was going to remarry, that she was about to have a brother, that she was about to be ripped away from the boarding school that had become her home, and forced to fit into the cookie-cutter family her mother was hell-bent on molding them all into? How could she explain the panic attacks that had paralyzed her during her teenage years, or the nightmare that was Peter? Every choice she'd ever made, in her personal life, had been built on a foundation of anxiety, always going for the path of least resistance, performing an in-depth risk analysis every time some bloke asked her for a drink, and she rebelled at the very idea of sharing any of this with someone else.

 _Breathe, and take it slow,_ she told herself. It was the same advice every psychologist she'd been forced to see from the time she was eleven years old had given her.

"It wasn't your fault," she began haltingly. Almost immediately she stopped herself, and added, "well, not entirely your fault."

Harry had turned around, waiting for her answer, and he was leaning back against the sink now, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes soft and open as he watched her. For a moment she allowed her gaze to flick up to those eyes, and took some strength from the compassion she found there. She could not keep up the contact for more than an instant, however; she'd never been this honest with anyone before, not ever, and she worried she would not find the courage to continue, if she faced him for too long.

"I felt trapped, Harry. I'd just met your daughter, and I'm about to have your baby, and I was lying in _your_ bed, under _your_ arm, and you'd called me darling and I just felt…trapped."

"Ruth-"

She held up her hand to stop him. "Please, Harry, let me say this. I know you didn't mean anything by it. That was a strange night, and we were all a little uncomfortable, I think." She took a deep breath, waiting for another interruption, but none came. _Do it, do it now, before you lose your nerve._

"I was fourteen, when Mum married David and he and Peter moved into our house."

Whatever Harry had been expecting, it clearly wasn't this. His expression had clouded for a moment, at the mention of Peter's name. They'd never discussed Peter, not really. In fact, Ruth could only recall two occasions during which he'd ever factored into a conversation; the day she'd gone to ask Harry for leave to attend Peter's funeral, and the day that Angela Wells held them all captive on the Grid. That was it, no more and no less. Ruth knew there was a brief note about Peter in her file, and she knew that Harry had read it. _Step-brother, Peter Haig, officer in the Royal Protection Unit. Haig passed all requisite background checks. Involved in domestic disturbance incident at Miss Evershed's home on the night of April 29, 1995, no charges filed._

"Peter was always very…protective, of me. He was two years older, but we went to the same schools, knew all the same people. At first, I thought it was normal, I thought he was just trying to play the part of the dutiful older brother…" her voice trailed off as her stomach clenched in fear. Even now, all these years later, just thinking about him made her break out in a cold sweat and start looking for an exit. _"_ I couldn't do anything without him hearing about it, and he would get so cross, when he found out I was seeing someone. And then there was Blackpool."

Silence reigned, again, as Ruth lost herself in her memories, and in the twisted version of events she'd told to Angela in a desperate gamble to save all their lives.

Angela had always been suspicious of the relationship between Ruth and Peter. Funny, that a woman as bold and strong and self-assured as Angela bloody Wells would see meek, mousy little Ruth as a threat, but she had. Perhaps Peter had talked about her, when he drank too much (which was often); perhaps Angela had drawn her own conclusions on the very few occasions (two) she'd had the opportunity to observe them together; perhaps she was just a paranoid bitch. Whatever the reason, Angela had sensed that all was not well between them, and she had loathed Ruth for it. And it was that loathing that had brought her down in the end, the very idea that it was Peter who pined for Ruth, rather than the other way around, that made Angela crumble like a piece of ancient parchment paper. Even knowing what had come after, Ruth still believed that Angela's breakdown was real. She had to believe that, had to believe she hadn't given away a piece of her own humanity for nothing.

"Our parents were fighting, and it was miserable, in that house. I remember it was winter, maybe Christmas; mum always has a hard time at Christmas. I was seventeen, and by that point I knew that what Peter felt for me wasn't…normal. I knew he loved me, or he thought he did, but I was young and I wanted to escape for a little while, so I went with him. That day, when Angela…I told you that I lied to her, about sleeping with Peter. It wasn't a lie, Harry."

She paused here for a moment, and studied his face. Ever the spook, he kept his expression guarded, even from her, no sign of his reaction to this news playing on his features. Fear gripped her, but she continued on, determined to tell him everything, no matter the cost.

"I did sleep with him. Not just once. I don't know how many times. We stayed in Blackpool for a fortnight, until his money ran out and I got scared. He was talking about how we ought to run away together, change our names and get married, and I realized then what a mistake I'd made. I always cared for Peter, and he had made himself indispensable to me. I couldn't imagine going on without him, but he wanted to take away my life, my freedom, my future. He was so angry…" Memories overwhelmed her, as the sound of her own voice faded.

At seventeen, Ruth had been young and shy and uncertain, and Peter had meant everything to her. That he had loved her, that he had wanted her in that way, seemed like a miracle to her, this girl who had never really felt special before, and for two short weeks she had lost herself in the fantasy of being loved. While it was happening, those days spent with him had seemed so precious, a beautiful, delicate gift. He was the first man she'd ever slept with, the first to show her all the ways a body could give and receive such great pleasure, and she had basked in his attention. And then the penny dropped, and real life came crashing in. She'd thought they could continue on, once they came home, thought that things could still be the same, but then Peter had told her how he longed to take her away, how in the life he'd build for them she would never go to Oxford, never see the world, but stay in his house and raise his babies. Peter had shattered the dream that was Blackpool, and plunged her into a nightmare.

All too clearly she recalled the hurt in his eyes, those eyes as soft and brown as Harry's; all too clearly she recalled the sharp pain of his fist, colliding with her cheek. Peter only struck her once, and he never stopped apologizing for it, the whole way back from Blackpool, but the damage was done. In that one moment he had revealed himself to her, had shown her that to him she was a possession, a pretty thing put on the earth for his enjoyment, with no right to control her own life.

"What did he do, Ruth?" Harry asked her, not unkindly.

"He hit me," she answered slowly. "That's not the issue here, Harry, don't you see? For years he had done everything he could to make sure that I needed him, that I couldn't do anything without him. Peter had these mad ideas, this fantasy of the life we could have together, and he was furious when he realized it was never meant to be _."_

 _Do you understand, Harry?_ She wondered. Would he make her say it? They were so very different, Harry and Peter, but there were times when Ruth was frightened that Harry, like Peter, had grander dreams for them, and that in those dreams she was caged, held captive to someone else's desires. The very thought of it made her skin crawl. Harry wanted to marry her, move her into his house, raise their child together, and though rationally she knew that he wasn't Peter, there was a small, frightened part of her that wanted only to run. The fact that she had spent a fortnight in Blackpool with Peter before it all fell apart, and that history had repeated that particular cycle with Harry, was not lost on her. They had reached the breaking point tonight; they would wake up together tomorrow, or never again.

"When we came home, our parents had made up, and I was set to go to Oxford in just a few months. They were the worst months of my life, really, staying in that house with him, but when it was time for me to go, I never looked back. I promised myself I would never, ever let anyone else have that kind of power over me. For a while things were all right, and I thought I'd put all behind me, until…"

"Your twenty-fifth birthday," Harry prompted. He hadn't left his post by the sink, was still just watching and waiting, listening intently to all she had to tell him. In a way she was grateful he had kept his distance; it was easier to tell this story to the table, rather than to his face.

"I was seeing Gary Hicks at the time, and Peter showed up, piss drunk and angrier than I'd ever seen him. I don't know, to this day, how he found out where I lived. They fought in the street like a pair of teenagers. The police came, but I managed to keep everything rather quiet. After that, I stopped going home at the holidays, I stopped speaking to David, I moved, and I only saw Peter a handful of times, before he…"

While she'd been speaking her voice kept fading in and out, but she knew that Harry would be able to fill in the gaps on his own. They always did that for one another, picked up the thread where the other left off, worked together to paint the full picture. Surely that was enough for now, she thought, staring glumly at her hands folded in her lap. _Before he killed himself,_ was how that sentence ended, and even now, all these years later, Ruth felt the sharp sting of guilt over her stepbrother's death. Peter had always had a streak of darkness in him, but she had always wondered, would always wonder, what would have happened if she had never given into her need for him in Blackpool. If he had never had a taste of what they could have been together, would losing her have hurt him so badly? She'd been young and naive and scared, teetering on the edge of adulthood, looking a world of possibility in the face, never realizing the damage her heart could cause. Maybe Peter's death had nothing to do with her, or maybe it had everything to do with her, and she would never know for sure. And so she carried on, his death just another chain around her neck, dragging her under.

Ruth had never told this story to anyone, had never shared this piece of herself, frightened of the truth of it. She knew what people would say, upon learning that she'd slept with her stepbrother, willingly, that she had crossed that unspeakable line. At the time she had been young, and so dependent on him; it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to be doing, and then it all fell apart.

"What about your parents?" Harry asked gently, and Ruth fought the urge to laugh aloud at the very thought.

"My mum was furious with me, and she told me that if I tried to tell David what had happened she'd cut me off, make sure I never got into Oxford. She wasn't about to let me break up her happy family." That was one of many, many reasons Ruth had never really trusted her mother; even now, after so much time had passed, knowing that her mother was slowly fading away before her very eyes, she could not find much affection for the woman in her heart. Guilt overwhelmed her at the very thought; what sort of daughter didn't love her own mother? _The sort who's been hurt one too many times._

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For a long time Harry stood still as a statue, trying to digest Ruth's words. From the moment her file had first come across his desk he'd been curious about her connection to Peter Haig; the man's name was well known, in certain circles, as he had been something of a degenerate and a rabble rouser, and romantically involved with one of Harry's own agents to boot. Rage overwhelmed him, at the thought of what that prick had done to Ruth, but her story brought with it a certain clarity, too. Her hesitancy towards him, when it came to their personal relationship, her intense desire for privacy and her desperate need to follow her own path all made a certain amount of sense, in context. He'd always been protective of her, himself, and he was in a position to wield a great deal of power over her professionally; the fact that she had ever allowed him into her life at all seemed remarkable, given what she'd been through.

A wave of guilt crashed over him, as he realized the position he'd inadvertently put her in. Finding herself pregnant with his child meant that she was tied to him in a way, and he understood now how she could feel trapped by it. And then he'd gone and put a trace on her mobile; _Christ,_ how must that have terrified her? How could he have done that to her? Earlier in the night he'd told her wouldn't apologize for it, and now all he wanted was to fall to his knees at her feet, and beg her forgiveness.

"Say something, please?" she asked him in a small, unsteady voice, and he shook himself out of his reverie. He knew what it must have cost her, to share this with him, and he knew that she had placed a great responsibility on his shoulders. So much seemed to hang on how he answered her now, and he prayed he wouldn't make the wrong move.

He crossed the kitchen and sat down beside her, taking one of her hands in his own.

"Thank you," he said softly, "for telling me. I hate that you've had to carry this burden all these years, and I'm sorry for frightening you."

Her eyes were huge and shiny with tears, and it took everything he had to keep from pulling her into his arms. In this moment that was likely the last thing she needed; Ruth longed, in her heart, to be free, and he did not want her to feel as if his arms were chains, binding her to him.

"I know you aren't like him, Harry," she said quickly, using her free hand to dash away the tears that stained her cheeks. "I just get scared, sometimes."

"That's ok," he told her, keeping his voice warm and low. "If you need space, or time, take all that you need. Just, please, let me know you're all right. I don't need to know where you are or what you're doing every minute of every day, I just need to know that you're well."

Ruth nodded, having apparently lost her voice altogether. _I love you,_ he thought, not for the first time, not even for the hundredth. This was not the moment for such a declaration, he knew, but he thought it just the same, hoping she could feel his love for her in the touch of his hand. And oh but he loved her, loved her when she was scared and when she was brave, loved her when she was angry and when she was glad, loved her when she was impassioned and loved her when she was soft and gentle from sleep. Every shattered piece of him loved every broken piece of her, and he hoped that in the sharing of those pieces they might find a way to continue on, together.

* * *

"So you see," she continued after a time, still staring at their fingers, intertwined and resting against Harry's thigh. "I don't like feeling as if I don't have a choice. It was easy for me to be with George, to live with him, because he didn't expect anything from me, and I could leave any time I chose. I had cash and fake passports and I was already living under a false name; he was never, ever going to know the real me, and I thought that meant he couldn't hurt me. But you…" Somehow telling him this was even harder than telling him about Peter. The words stuck in her throat, her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth. _You're nearly done,_ she told herself. _Nearly there._ "You know every part of me, Harry. You could…break me, so easily, and sometimes, that scares me."

Her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking and she couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes, but somehow she felt better for having said those words aloud. Just admitting to him the fears that kept her up at night, the depth of her feelings for him, made her feel as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Whatever he said now, he would know the truth of her, and that deep, soul-bearing honesty made her feel almost clean.

"Ruth," he said her name in a voice so low and soft that she could not help but turn her gaze to his face. He called to her, the sound of his voice a siren song she could not ignore. For a moment she waited for him to speak, waited to hear some recrimination, some reassurance, some… _something_ , but he looked as if words were quite beyond him. He leaned across the space between them and brushed her lips with his, just for a moment. "You know me, Ruth," he said finally. "You know me as no one else ever has, and as much as you think I may have the power to hurt you, please understand you hold that same power over me. Perhaps we just need to-"

"Trust each other?" she supplied helpfully, offering him a tired little smile. He returned her smile in kind, and she felt her panic begin to fade. She had told Harry the truth, all of it, had laid her heart bare before him, and he had not been cross. He had not been cross or cruel or scolding; he had been honest, too.

The peanut gave a furious little kick, just then, and Ruth took Harry's hand, still clutched inside her own, and pressed it against her belly without a word. His smile grew, when he felt their daughter move.

"Hello, little one," he said softly, leaning close to her bump. "Were you feeling left out, my love?"

 _My love._ Tears filled Ruth's eyes once more, at the sound of those words coming from Harry. She was safe here with him, and he loved their daughter, who was even now doing her damnedest to make her presence known. So much had happened tonight; Ruth felt completely drained, but lighter too, for having made her confession.

Harry did not remove his hand from her body, even after the peanut stopped moving, but Ruth didn't mind. After all they had shared she liked being this close to him, longed to be closer still. And so, once, more she drew in a deep breath, and took a chance.

"Take me to bed, Harry," she said softly.

He smiled and kissed her forehead once before rising from his chair to the sound of his knee cracking. _Poor old Harry,_ she thought fondly. He was a bit battered, her Harry, like a ship after a storm, but he was solid through and through. Without a word he led her from the kitchen, his fingers still laced with hers, and all their doubts and all their fears fell away with every step they took.


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: By way of apology for the kerfuffle with chapter 41, I have once again started this chapter with a bit of smut. M rated shenanigans ahead!**

* * *

In the dark and quiet of Harry's bedroom, they came together once again. For just a moment, he had been uncertain if he ought to comply with her request, given all that she'd told him that night, but as he looked into her eyes he knew that she was right. They had fought, they had aired their fears, they had trusted one another, and together they would be stronger for it. Ruth was right; they needed this. Needed to take their time with one another, needed to let their bodies give evidence of the truth of their words.

He stopped her just inside the doorway, caught her in his arms and kissed her deeply, rejoicing in the way she melted against him, her lips soft and gentle, her stomach brushing against his with every breath they took. This was _Ruth_ he was holding; just the thought of it, the realization that after everything she was here with him, kissing him, touching him, loving him in her own way, set his heart to racing. For years he had wanted no one but her, had thought of no one but her, this woman with her ocean-dark eyes and her beautiful, tattered soul. This was _Ruth,_ the only woman who had ever truly understood him, the only person who had every truly seen him, the quiet, tender half of his heart, the piece of himself he'd been missing for so long, the one who made him finally whole.

As they kissed she made quick work of his shirt buttons, her small, delicate hands igniting a fire in his blood that grew with each tentative brush of her body against his own. He wanted to reciprocate, to peel the clothes from her body and lavish her skin with kisses, but she was too quick for him, peeling his shirt away from his shoulders and launching her attack afresh once it was gone, never giving him the opportunity. With all the grace of a dancer she dropped to her knees, moving slowly in deference to the extra weight she carried, her warm lips dropping kisses around his navel while her hands unbuckled his belt. Too late he realized what she was doing, but when he tried to protest she sat back on her heels, one of her hands reaching through his now-unzipped fly to grasp his length, her eyes burning as she gazed up at him, and his voice died in his throat. She was a siren, a vixen, his wildest dreams made flesh, and she wanted _him._ He could no more deny her this than he could deny himself breath, and so he tangled one hand in her soft dark hair and smiled down at her.

With surprising speed she freed him from his trunks, and licked her lips once in what was, for her, a rather salacious move indeed before she leaned forward, and pressed a reverent kiss to the tip of his rigid cock. He groaned, at the first brush of her lips against him, and he could see that his response to her bolstered her confidence; she set to her task with characteristic determination, and he lost himself in her. Her lips, warm and soft, her tongue, insistent and all-consuming, the heat of her almost more than he could bear. After all this time she knew him so very well, knew what he liked and knew what he needed, and she took as much of him into her mouth as she could manage, as deep as she could, before sliding him back out again, the suction she created pushing his iron-clad restraint to its breaking point. She wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, and continued her assault, never stopping as he moaned and shuddered beneath the onslaught of her mouth and her hands. And all the while she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling and intent on his face, watching his pleasure; that look on her face was nearly enough to do him in.

When he felt himself teetering on the very brink he gently pulled her away, breathing deeply and trying to bring himself back under control. As easy as it would be to give into the gentle insistence of her mouth, there was another warm, wet place he wanted to lose himself inside, and he would not be deterred from his goal. He understood what appealed to her about this particular act, as he felt much the same way about burying his face between her thighs, and he understood too that this night was about so much more than physical release for them. It was about caring for one another, being kind to one another, rejoicing in one another, and if they were going to continue, he needed to stop her now, before it was too late. Ruefully he admitted to himself that he wasn't a young man, any more, but that fact had never seemed to bother her before, and he wasn't about to mention it to her now. Instead he helped her to her feet, and kissed her once again.

* * *

Harry was kissing her, his hands broad and strong where they gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him as they began the awkward, shuffling dance away from the doorway towards the bed. For a moment she had considered resisting his attempts to disentangle her from him, had considered staying right where she was and pulling him over the edge, had wanted to feel the rush of him coming because of her mouth, her hands. In the end, though, she had retreated, understanding what it was he wanted, and desiring nothing more than to give it to him.

When they reached the bed he stopped, and turned his attentions to her clothes, peeling them away layer by layer until she was bare before him. He stopped for a moment, watching her with hungry eyes, and she took the opportunity to slip away from him, stretching out on his bed and waiting for him to join her, every nerve in her body tingling and crying out for him. He looked a bit silly, standing there still in his trousers and socks, his cock still wet from her mouth and springing absurdly through his open fly, but before she could comment on it he had divested himself of the last of his clothes, and was sliding over her, dropping kisses on her body at random and drawing a heavy, blissful sigh from her lips.

This was _Harry_ , lavishing attention on her naked breasts, kneading the tender flesh of her thighs with his hands. Harry whom she had loved for years beyond counting, the only man she'd ever truly trusted, the only person who could read her thoughts with a glance, the only one who had ever held her trembling heart steady in his hands. That they should find themselves here after everything, after the lies and the losses, after the years of self-denial and the untold betrayals, seemed to her to be a miracle in itself.

She made a soft sound of protest, when his mouth left the valley of her breasts, but that protest turned to whimpers of anticipation as she felt his kisses work their way down her body, over the rise of her belly, to the seam of her leg. For a time he teased her with feather-light kisses along her inner thighs; her muscles felt heavy and loose, as she waited for what she knew was coming next. At the first brush of his lips against her dripping sex she sighed, and ran her fingers over his head, through his hair, encouraging him with a gentle thrust of her hips. He got the message loud and clear, and set to with a will, his tongue vibrating against her clit as he drove his fingers deep inside her, setting up at relentless pace that had her mewling with want in seconds. Harry was not the first man to show her this sort of attention, but he was certainly the _best;_ he knew her so well, anticipated her wants, followed her unspoken commands, and she was powerless to resist him. When he finally pushed her over the edge she cried out in ecstasy, her thighs locking tight around his head, holding him in place while she trembled and shook.

When she finally came back to herself she released her hold on him with a sheepish grin, but before she could apologize he stretched himself out over her, his tongue rushing into her mouth, his hands sliding up her body to knead the tender flesh of her breasts, setting her on fire for him anew. At seven months gone her stomach was big enough to make this position just a little uncomfortable, with his weight pressing down against her. Before she ever had a chance to tell him this, though, he was pulling back, smiling down at her breathlessly.

"Harry-" she said, and he only smiled.

"Come here," he said, his hands moving around her thighs to grasp her bottom, moving her with him until he was standing beside the bed and her hips were level with the edge. They helped one another, he directing her to bend her knees and brace her feet against the edge of the mattress. His bed was just tall enough to put her hips on the same level as his cock, and when he slid himself deep inside her she groaned in satisfaction, his thick fingers clutching her legs, holding her steady as he gently rocked into her, setting a slow and steady rhythm. They were in no hurry, tonight, choosing instead to enjoy one another, the sounds they made and the feeling of being together.

He always knew what she needed, what she wanted, and tonight was no different. With practiced ease he stoked the flames of her desire, built her up until her whole body cried out for him, and still he carried on, never increasing his pace until she was begging him to finish her off. In this position he could reach so much deeper, and she propped herself up on her elbows, spellbound by the sight of his cock, wet with her need for him, sliding in and out of her. It was enough to send her over the edge, and she came with a groan, clenching tight around him, but still he carried on. Harry's face seemed almost to come alight with the affection she knew he felt for her, and she saw in his eyes all the love he had never expressed to her with words. Faster now, no doubt feeling the urgent call of her still-spasming sex, he thrust into her harder and harder until she fell for a third time, moaning through her release and bringing him with her. With a long, low groan he spilled himself inside her, his hands dropping to the bed beside her, his strong, beautiful arms just barely holding him suspended above her. When she could move again she raised herself up enough to kiss him once, lightly, thinking only _I love him, I love him, I love him._

* * *

That night they slept with their bodies wrapped around one another, their arms and legs all tangled together, the peanut sheltered between them. When Ruth woke, Harry's eyes were already open and he was smiling at her softly, his hand rubbing circles across her stomach.

"Good morning," she said softly.

He leaned over and kissed her. "Good morning." Then with a twinkle in his eye he shifted, and kissed her stomach. "And good morning to you, Sophia," he added in a playful voice.

"Harry," she sighed in mock indignation. Like a child with a favorite toy he had fixated on that name; she couldn't say why she didn't like it, exactly; she only knew it didn't feel quite right to her.

"What do you suggest we call her, then?" he asked. His tone was still light and good-humored; he was always in a fine mood, the morning after, and he took a childlike delight in teasing her about the peanut's name. She watched him, running her fingers through her messy hair, unable to keep the fond smile from her face. And he thought _she_ was stubborn!

"I like Grace," she told him. "But I'm not sure if I'm ready to commit to a name. It's such a big decision, Harry, what if we pick the wrong one?"

"Not possible," he answered, shifting around so that he was lying beside her once again. Ruth wished she shared his confidence. Words mattered to her, and names were important. To her mind, names gave spirit to the objects they identified, a system of classification all their own. She thought about this as she nestled into Harry's arms. _Harry,_ a diminutive of Henry, a derivative of _Heinrich,_ from the German, meaning _ruler of the household._ Appropriate, that. And then there was _Ruth,_ from the Hebrew, meaning _friend._ They couldn't pick a name for their daughter at random; it needed to _mean_ something, and she was spoiled for choice, unable to pick just one.

"The furniture is coming in today," Harry mused, running the tips of his fingers up and down her arm and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Ruth shuddered just a little, her thoughts already drifting toward all the erotic things he could do, had done, to her with those hands. With a little shake of her head she forced herself to focus on the present.

"When are they coming? I need to go home, have a shower and change my clothes. And I really ought to talk to Beth. "

She didn't say what it was she needed to speak to Beth about; Harry already knew. Ruth had agreed to trust him, to let him take the lead on the Lucas situation, and she needed to call Beth off. How on earth she was going to explain this, when she didn't have any of the answers herself, she had no idea, but she had told Harry she would back off, and she meant to make good on her promise.

He stretched, kissed her temple, and slid out of bed. "They'll be here at ten. Why don't you come downstairs, have some breakfast and then go home? Take your time; we've got all day."

As he stood there, naked and tousled from sleep, she took in the sight of him, so sure of himself even now. There was such an intimacy about this sort of casual nudity, this standing bare before one another with no amorous intent, just talking about their day, planning the simple domesticity of furniture arrangements and shower schedules. Compared to their daily lives on the Grid this homey normalcy was as a rare as a lightning strike, and so very precious to her.

"Breakfast sounds wonderful," she told him.

* * *

Beth was sprawled out on the sofa, her favorite place to be on a Saturday morning, when Ruth came breezing in the front door. That her flatmate had once again spent the night away from home was not lost on Beth, and while she did not fancy Harry in the slightest, she did feel just a tiny rush of jealousy. Ruth had somewhere to go on Friday nights, someone to hold, someone to love, and Beth had only Ruth's nameless cat to greet her upon her return from work. It would be nice, she thought ruefully, to have that kind of affection in her life, but where was she supposed to find the time to meet people, between saving the world and trying to rectify her sleep deficit? Ruth had done the clever thing, and fallen for someone at work. She and Harry could talk to one another about their days, about all the dark deeds they'd done, without worrying about giving away state secrets. Who was Beth supposed to confide in? Certainly not Lucas, with his brooding stare and his lovely doctor friend. And not Dimitri either, all earnest smiles and easy flirtations and entirely too naïve for her tastes. Tariq was right out as well; besides being a complete and utter nerd, he was something of a brother to her, and she almost laughed aloud at the very thought of starting up any sort of romantic entanglement with him.

 _You're shit out of luck, Bailey,_ she told herself grimly.

"All right?" she asked Ruth.

"Fine," Ruth answered with an uncharacteristically bright, cheery smile. "I'm off again soon, I just wanted to change my clothes."

Beth nodded her understanding. It wouldn't be long before Ruth moved in with Harry for good and all, and then Beth would have the flat to herself. It wasn't a prospect she was looking forward to; once Ruth's things were gone, Beth wouldn't be able to convince herself that she wasn't alone, any more.

"Beth, there's something I need to tell you," Ruth added, as if the thought had almost slipped her mind. She leaned against the doorframe, grimacing slightly. It was her back that was bothering her, no doubt; Ruth often complained of back pain, these days.

Beth sat up a little straighter at her words, concerned about where this might be going.

"We need to back off Lucas. He's working on something, I don't know what, but Harry has asked me to trust him, and I have given him my word that we won't investigate any further."

 _What in God's name is that about?_ Beth wondered, grinding her teeth in frustration. It wasn't like Ruth, to give into Harry's demands like that, without question, and as much as Ruth might trust him, Beth did not share her unwavering faith in the man. Harry was only human after all, and humans make mistakes. That was just the nature of life, as far as she was concerned.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Beth said slowly.

"I'm not too keen on it myself," Ruth admitted. "But Harry is our Section Head, and these are his orders. We have to do as he says, Beth."

With that she straightened up and meandered down the hall towards the bathroom, leaving Beth alone and thinking hard.

Ruth had made her promises to Harry, and she had done her duty in telling Beth to stand down. Whatever action Beth took from here on out would be her own responsibility; Harry couldn't blame Ruth, if Beth had gone behind her back. Maybe Ruth was willing to give up their investigation, but Beth still keenly felt the weight of the others' mistrust in her, and she did not share their certainty as regarded Lucas's character. He was up to something, and until she knew what it was, she could not be sure that it was entirely on the level. Let Ruth give up then; Beth Bailey was no quitter.


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: This chapter comes with a special offering of my sincerest thanks (along with all the love that I possess) to the beautiful starserendipity. Thank you for being my muse and for your never-ending encouragement and support. This story would not exist without you; none of my stories would.**

* * *

For days Beth watched and waited, looking for some sign that all was not well. Ruth was calm and quiet, a look of serenity gracing her features even amidst the unhinged chaos of the Grid. Harry was Harry, steady and stern, his eyes softening every time he looked at her. Dimitri was in rare form, cracking jokes and even managing to drag the occasional almost-smile out of Lucas, as improbable as that seemed to Beth. And then there was Lucas himself; he weaved his way in and out of the action with practiced ease, his absences plentiful, but always explained away with a shrug of his powerful shoulders. If Ruth noticed, she said nothing, though there were moments, few and far between, when her general aura of peaceful acceptance would diminish somewhat and that little furrow would appear between her eyebrows and her gaze would flick over to Harry's office, her whole body taut and tense as Beth watched her struggle with whether or not she ought to say something. In the end, though, Ruth's concerns went unspoken.

Beth had known that digging into Lucas's activities would be harder, without Ruth by her side, but she hadn't realized quite how impossible it would become. Being the Senior Intelligence Analyst had many perks, it would seem, and among them was the clearance required to pull reports from any operation at will, and access to the GPS tracking system. Beth was not cleared to access any of that information, and she did not possess the hacking skills necessary to take it by stealth. Frustration overwhelmed her, as the days dragged on; how could she chart Lucas's movements, without any assistance?

The answer came to her one day during a briefing, as Harry made some passing comment about the possibility of planting an agent in London's homeless community. Among those who slept on the streets there were people who needed food, needed money, needed booze, and they moved about the city with ease; no one ever looked twice at a homeless man. And thus her idea was born; she knew Lucas was frequenting St. Thomas's, but she wanted to know specific dates and times, and in order to get that information, she needed eyes on the hospital.

And so, though eventually the idea of using the homeless network for their current op was vetoed, Beth set up a network of her own. She provided pay-as-you-go mobiles to three likely candidates, and purchased one for herself. The deal was simple; if they spotted Lucas near the hospital, they told her where and when, and were paid for their time. So far only one of them had tried to cheat her; he'd sent her a message saying Lucas was at the hospital when he was in fact sitting at his desk right across the Grid from her. The other two were as good as their word, and checked in with her regularly. That Lucas was visiting Maya Lahan with alarming frequency was well-known to Beth; in an attempt to gain broader perspective, she set her watchers to keeping an eye out for anyone else who had come to make personal calls on the lovely doctor, as well.

It was early days yet, so she wasn't concerned that no new connections had been made; she would watch, and wait, and bide her time.

* * *

Ruth was in a rather melancholy mood, by the time Friday rolled around; they'd managed to stop the bombing of a church, but in the process she's spent a week buried beneath the vitriolic screed spewed by the hateful fear-mongers behind the planned attack. Working in such close proximity to violence and the very worst of human nature left her feeling pensive, and so she decided that it would be for the best if she spent Friday night alone. Since their revealing conversation the week before she had slept in Harry's bed every night, and come in with him every morning, whispers be damned. What could they possibly say to hurt her, when she was already pregnant with his child? There was no use trying to hide the truth, when it was so blatantly obvious, and so she set aside her fears and tried to embrace her newfound confidence in her relationship with Harry.

Tonight, though, she didn't feel the need for his comfort, didn't want to tell him about all the worries weighing on her mind and then sit and listen while he tried to solve her every problem. Harry had an innate need to fix things, and she loved that about him, truly she did, but sometimes she just wanted to sit with her sadness. Sometimes she reveled in it, that feeling of desultory sorrow, unable to focus on any one thing, able only to feel. Perhaps it wasn't a good feeling, but she remembered all too well what it was like to feel nothing at all, and so on occasion she allowed herself this indulgence.

Of course she was able to suffer her despondency alone; she and Beth went home at the same time, sitting next to one another on the tube, unspeaking but still together. It was nice to know that the girl was there, should she feel the need to talk, and nice also to see Beth's willingness to give her space, that quiet understanding that sometimes no words are needed.

When they reached the flat, Beth set about scrounging them up some supper, muttering about how she'd been eating far too many take-aways of late. Ruth joined her, and they stood together in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables while the cat wound round their ankles and mewled up at them pitifully. With a start Ruth realized how much she had missed the girl's companionship of late; for weeks she'd either been with Harry, or worrying about Harry, and she was glad to have the opportunity to spend time with a friend, away from the storm that had been raging in her heart.

"Not so very long now," Beth murmured while they cooked. "How are you feeling?"

Ruth gave her a wan little smile. "I'm all right, really. I feel a bit…odd, you know. She's shuffling everything around in there," at this Ruth laid her hand fondly on her belly, "and it feels almost as if I'm being compressed, somehow. And I'll never get used to the feeling of her moving about. If I think about it too much I get frightened, to be honest. There's a little person in there, and she can _move_ , it's just…"

"Weird?" Beth supplied with a little grin.

"Very," Ruth answered. "And my back aches and I can't go more than thirty minutes without rushing off to the loo and everything makes me tired. I can't believe there's two months still to go."

Beth poured their vegetables into a pan, while Ruth got the noodles going.

"Do you think you'll be ready?" Beth asked her.

 _God, no,_ Ruth thought glumly. How could she ever be ready for this? Pregnancy was one thing; the peanut was still a part of her, and taking care of her right now consisted of nothing more strenuous than remembering to eat and sleep. Once the peanut was born, though, everything would change; there would be a real, living, breathing, screaming child, dependent on Ruth for everything, and that thought terrified her more than words could say. All the parenting books in the world didn't seem to help her, either. Everyone had a different theory, on how best to raise a baby, and most seemed to agree that as a mother she ought to just _know_ , inherently, what was best for her child. Ruth had never spent time around babies, had never really wanted a baby of her own, and now that she had one on the way, she was paralyzed with fear.

The peanut would look to her, to meet her physical needs, but more than that, the peanut would grow into a child, a little girl whose entire worldview would be shaped by her parents, and Ruth keenly felt the weight of that responsibility. Her own life had been so tumultuous; Ruth had always struggled with regulating her emotions, and making connections with other people had never come easily to her. How could she teach her child to be brave and kind and hopeful, when she herself was so often swept away by doubt and grief? How could she and Harry teach their child to be strong and independent, when they had experienced so much horror, and wanted only to keep her safe? She supposed that if it came to it she could teach their child how to read, but she could not fathom teaching her how to live.

"We set the nursery up last weekend, and we're still trying to buy all the things we'll need," Ruth said, ignoring the more personal aspect of Beth's question and focusing instead on the practical details involved in welcoming her baby to the world.

"So things are good, with you and Harry now?" Beth asked with a keen glint in her eye. _Ever the spook,_ Ruth thought ruefully.

"I think so, yes."

"That's good," Beth responded, and their conversation ground to a halt, neither of them willing to pursue that particular avenue of discourse any further. They worked together in silence, their dinner slowly coming together.

* * *

When they had finished eating, Beth watched with some amusement as Ruth shifted uncomfortably in her chair. There was clearly something on her mind, but she just as clearly didn't want to share it, and Beth waited patiently to hear what she had to say. Ruth did eventually find her voice, just as Beth was finishing her wine.

"I've been thinking, it's probably time I cleared those boxes out of your closet," Ruth said.

Beth sat up a little straighter at those words. Unbeknownst to Ruth she had discovered long ago that those boxes contained the last remains of Ruth's old life, and she'd been deeply curious about them ever since discovering the nature of their contents. She gave a little nod, and then suggested, "I could help you, if you like."

Ruth smiled up at her gratefully. "I'm not supposed to be lifting heavy things, and some of them have books inside. I would appreciate the help."

And so Beth topped up her wine, and they trudged down the hallway together. Beth pulled down the first box that came to hand; it was fairly heavy, though not so large as to be cumbersome, and she dropped it on her bed next to Ruth, who turned to it with trembling hands.

"What's in there?" Beth asked, already knowing the answer, but feigning ignorance for the sake of preserving Ruth's feelings.

"After I…left, internal affairs seized all my possessions, and they went through the lot of it. It's a long process, and my things kept dropping to the bottom of the list as more urgent demands came in. They released things to my mother one box at a time, and she sold most of it. This is what was left, after two years."

Ruth eased the top off the box, and Beth peered inside, eager as a schoolgirl. She was rather disappointed; this box seemed to contain a few articles of clothing, and several stacks of records.

"They kept your clothes?" she asked, watching as Ruth pulled out a flouncy, rather bohemian looking blouse, in a vaguely floral pattern of reds and browns.

"I'm not sure there was really any rhyme or reason to it," Ruth told her. She ran the blouse through her fingers, her eyes faraway. Most of the clothes in the box were ruffled and pleated and so much… _more_ than what Ruth wore nowadays, and Beth watched as her flatmate shuffled through them, wondering at the change in her. The Ruth Beth knew favored black and navy and dark purple, her skirts long and simple, her blouses neat and utterly unmemorable. How different must she have been back then, Beth wondered; they were just clothes, but they seemed to her to be pieces of another person entirely.

At Ruth's orders Beth fetched a bin bag for the clothes; Ruth had decided to donate them. The records went back into the box, and Beth took another from inside the closet. This second one contained books, and lots of them, and was so heavy Beth nearly toppled over when she tugged it free from its perch. Ruth pulled each volume out, one by one, running her hands lovingly along their spines and smiling, greeting them as old friends. Half of them had titles in languages Beth could not decipher, but one near the bottom of the box caught her eye, and she pulled it free, turning it over in her hands.

It was a book about cats, about their physiology and their evolution in the context of human history. Ruth's attention was focused on another text, and so Beth flipped open the cover of the cat book, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw there was a small note tucked inside the front cover.

 _Happy Birthday, Ruth,_ was all it said, but it was written in a very familiar heavy black scrawl. _Harry wrote this,_ Beth mused; Ruth must have noticed her sudden silence, because she was looking at her strangely, and then she caught sight of the book.

"Oh," she sighed, and without a word Beth handed it over, sensing its value to her.

"I thought this one was lost forever," Ruth said, running her fingertips over the book's cover.

"There's a note inside; was it a gift?" Beth asked, hoping she wasn't being too obvious in her curiosity.

Ruth nodded, her cheeks coloring faintly. "It was the first birthday present Harry ever gave to me, a long time ago."

"He gave you a book about cats?" Beth's amusement was not feigned; she couldn't believe that Harry Pearce could be quite that…clueless.

"We didn't know each other all that well, at the time," Ruth said, rushing to his defense as ever. "He knew I liked cats so…" the corners of her mouth ticked up as she struggled not to smile.

Every time she turned around it seemed Beth encountered another reminder of the long, fraught history between the two of them. Harry had never given anyone else on the Grid a birthday present, as far as Beth was aware, and that he had chosen to give one to Ruth, so early in their acquaintance, seemed to speak to a bond that existed between them long before their romance had bloomed.

"It feels like something that happened to someone else, now," Ruth said softly. Her whole demeanor had shifted; it seemed that her initial delight at finding the book had been replaced with a deep sorrow. "It wasn't so very long ago, but so much has changed…we've lost much, he and I."

"But you're still here," Beth reminded her gently, wanting to see her smile again. "You're still here, and so is he, and you've got the peanut now, too. Maybe that doesn't diminish the pain, but it ought to give you something to be happy about."

Ruth reached out and patted her fondly on the leg in an old-fashioned, almost motherly sort of way. "You may be right about that," she said.

* * *

"I hope you don't mind me calling," Harry said, and Ruth smiled, stretching out luxuriously beneath her duvet. Spending so much time in Harry's bed had reminded her of her fondness for sleeping naked, and she was indulging tonight, telling herself that she'd chosen to forgo clothes in the face of the oppressive summer heat, when the truth was she just liked the way it felt.

"You seemed a bit out of sorts when you left, and I wanted to make sure you were all right," he continued.

"I was feeling a bit sad, before, but I'm all right now. Beth and I made a lovely dinner, and then she helped me go through some of my boxes."

Harry grunted on the other end of the line. "Find anything interesting?"

Ruth's gaze flicked over to her nightstand, where the cat book sat, having just been read for the first time in years.

"Oh, we found all sorts," she answered.

They were both of them quiet for a time; even face-to-face they were neither of them particularly loquacious, and these occasional silences didn't bother her. She liked to hear him breathing on the other end of the phone, liked to know that he was there, with her, thinking about her.

"I was wondering," he said hesitatingly, "if – when you do move in – if you might like to…move in to my room, with me."

Ruth smiled at his tentativeness; she'd been wondering when he'd bring this up. The offer to move in with him had originally been extended with the caveat that she could have the spare room to herself. Though she liked the idea of having that option, should either of them feel the need for space, she had no doubts as to where she'd prefer to sleep.

"I would like that," she told him in a low voice. "I would like that very much."

* * *

Beth had nearly drifted off to sleep when the ringing of her mobile shattered the stillness and set her heart to racing. She fumbled for it in the dark, realizing at the last second that it was her pay-as-you-go, and not her work mobile. _What on earth?_ She wondered; it was far to late for either of her assets to be ringing her.

"Yes?" she answered, hoping she didn't sound as tired as she felt.

"I've found him, miss," the reply came. It was Marcus, the younger of the two men currently in her employ. He was alarmingly young, if she were being honest with herself; every time he called her _miss_ she felt more like a headmistress than a spy. "I'm down by Battersea, and he's here, miss. He's meeting someone."

Beth's stomach clenched tight with fear. "Can you see who he's meeting?"

"'Course I can," he told her indignantly. "Only this crap mobile you gave me don't take pictures."

Beth ran her fingers through her hair, thinking hard. "Ok, Marcus, listen to me very carefully. I want you to get a good look at the man he's meeting. I need you to remember everything about him, ok? And then I need you to meet me tomorrow morning, in the usual place."

"Sure thing, miss. Will you bring me coffee?"

"Marcus, I'll buy you a full English breakfast if you can tell me what that man looks like tomorrow."


	44. Chapter 44

"What am I doing here, Beth?" Tariq asked her grumpily as she guided him inside the café. It was bloody early for a Saturday morning, and he had not been happy to receive her summons, but he had come, and brought his laptop along for the ride, just as she requested.

"Do you want some breakfast?" she asked him in a falsely cheerful voice. When she'd called him the night before Beth had explained that she needed his help drawing up the profile of a suspect, but she had given him no more information than that. He'd come, for which she was profoundly grateful, but she was still unsure just how much she could tell him. Certainly she couldn't mention Lucas, but how else was she supposed to explain this to him?

"Beth." The way he said her name was half a groan, half a sigh, and she couldn't help herself; she had to smile at him.

"I've got an asset who has some information for me, but I can't bring him onto the Grid. He can't be seen anywhere near Thames House. This place is safe, we often meet here to exchange information. I just need you to work with him for a bit, get a picture of our suspect drawn up. Then you can go home and go back to bed."

"You realize that could take hours?" Tariq pointed out glumly.

"Well, that's why I called you. You're the best, aren't you?"

Before Tariq could respond to her blatant attempt at flattery Marcus came shuffling in through the door. He was dirty and bedraggled, as always, but he seemed rather more chipper than the techie, just now.

"Breakfast, then?" he asked with a grin. He was such a nice kid, Beth thought, entirely too earnest and surprisingly trusting, given all he'd been through in his short life. He'd lost both his parents at a young age and had bounced around the system, often abused, often neglected, before he'd taken to the streets at just sixteen. There was a toughness about him; he needed it, to survive in his world, but still he was kind, and Beth appreciated that about him.

"Marcus, you can have whatever you like," Beth said expansively, and his eyes lit up. Beth flagged down the exhausted-looking waitress, and tried not to grimace as between them Tariq and Marcus ordered two of everything on the menu.

It took them nearly three hours, in the end, to draw up a composite of the man Marcus had seen talking to Lucas the night before. He had scraggly, flyaway blonde hair, thinning out on top, and a rugged, almost-handsome face.

"I've seen him at the hospital too, Miss," Marcus told her, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped comfortably around his stomach.

At this Tariq shot Beth a curious glance, and she rushed to change the subject.

"Thank you Marcus," she told him sincerely, standing up to signal that their meeting had come to an end. "You've been a great help to us." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of notes, all in small denominations, more money than she had ever given him, and still not enough, as far as she was concerned.

His eyes went wide when he saw the money. "Any time, Miss. You still want me at the hospital?"

Beth nodded. "Yes, please."

With that settled he took the money, thanked her again, and disappeared.

Tariq was still looking at her with that same faintly accusing cast to his face. "I suppose you want me to run the composite through facial recognition, then?" he asked, arms crossed over his chest, cradling his laptop protectively.

"No, I can do it," she answered defensively. If she'd been able to do the composite work herself she never would have brought him here in the first place, and she desperately didn't want him to become any more involved in her clandestine operation. Harry would be absolutely livid, if he found out about her continued surveillance; she shuddered to think about the sheer magnitude of his rage should he discover that she had roped Tariq in, as well.

"You need my composite, though, and I'm not going to give it to you until you tell me what the hell is going on."

How could someone so generally awkward and self-effacing be so damn stubborn? She wondered.

"This is on the level, Tariq, I just…I can't talk about it, right now."

"That's too bad," he said, turning as if to leave.

She had to stop him; if nothing else, she needed the composite, though now she was worried about the possibility of him running straight to Harry.

Quickly she reached out and caught him by the arm. "All right, all right, but this stays between us, yeah?"

Tariq did not immediately acquiesce, and his silence made her nervous. _Oh no, oh I've buggered this up,_ she thought glumly.

"I can't make any promises until I know what this is about," he said slowly.

"Fine," Beth all but growled. _So be it._ "This is about Lucas."

Tariq nodded. "You're trying to figure out where he's been disappearing to?"

His nonchalance threw her; he hadn't said a word to her about it, but apparently she and Ruth weren't the only ones to have some suspicions where their Section Chief was concerned.

"Yes," she said, almost sighing in relief.

"I'll email the composite to you, then you can run it through the system on Monday. And I can pull his GPS logs for the last month, if you're interested."

Now was probably not the best time to mention that she already had most of those logs, and so Beth just offered him her sincerest thanks.

"Right then. I'm going back to bed. See you on Monday." Once again he started to leave, and once again, Beth pulled him back.

"One more thing, Tariq," she said, unsure of how he would respond to this request, but needing to make it anyway. "Please don't tell anyone. Not Harry, or Ruth, or anyone."

"I'm not totally insane," he told her with a lopsided grin. "Harry would bite my head off if he knew I'd been helping you."

And just like that, he left her alone at last. Doubt and hope warred within her; somehow knowing that Tariq shared her fears about Lucas made her feel better, more justified in tracking his movements, but still she worried that this little operation might have unforeseen consequences, and not just for her. There was no time to think about that, now, though; she needed to get home, needed to think of some excuse to tell Ruth to explain her absence, and she needed to come up with a plan.

* * *

"Good morning," Harry said with a smile, leaning through the doorway to kiss her cheek. She smiled back him, this casual affection still new enough to draw a blush to her cheeks. When they had spoken on the phone the night before they had agreed to meet for breakfast, and Harry had offered to take her to a café he liked, not far from her flat. Her home was quiet when she woke; Ruth could only assume that Beth, true to form, was still in bed, and likely to stay there for quite some time yet.

"Good morning," she answered, stepping through the door and locking it behind her. He led her down to the car, his hand as always pressed against the small of her back. She had grown to like the way he held her like this, gentle but insistent, proclaiming his connection to her in even this smallest of gestures.

"Are you up for a bit of shopping, after we eat?" she asked him once he'd folded himself into the driver's seat and started the car.

Harry gave a good-natured groan, at that.

"Sometimes I feel like all we bloody do is eat and shop," he grumbled. Ruth reached out on impulse and squeezed his thigh lightly, her hand lingering there for a time as she enjoyed the freedom to touch him any time she chose. _I could get used to this,_ she thought.

"I just want to make sure we have everything we need, for when she gets here."

"We've still got almost two whole months to go, you know," he pointed out, never taking his eyes from the road. The faintest hint of a smile danced at the corner of his mouth, and Ruth watched him, mesmerized as always by that face she loved so well.

"That's not as long as you might think."

"Whatever you think is best," he said with a shrug.

It didn't take them very long to reach their destination; they settled into a booth and ordered tea and bacon and eggs and toast, and Ruth watched him all the while, thinking hard. For months now she had wanted to ask him about Jane, about Catherine and Graham, about his life before her, and for months she had resisted the urge, uncertain how best to phrase her question, uncertain how he might respond. Things were better between them now than ever before, though, and the gentle way he'd been treating her recently gave her confidence.

"Harry, can I ask you something?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this question?" he responded dryly.

She reached across the table and drew his hand into hers, their fingers locking together out of habit more than anything else.

"I've been wondering what things were like for you, when Catherine and Graham were small. I've been wondering how you feel about…doing all of this again."

For a long moment he was quiet, his soft, dark eyes boring into hers. She could not count the myriad emotions she saw flickering across his face; fear and sorrow and regret and anger all blending into one another, a cacophony of grief. In her heart she felt guilty, for wanting to ask at all, but she needed to know. She needed to know what he'd gone through, before, and she needed to know that his behavior towards her now was driven by a genuine desire to be with her, and not a desire to absolve himself of his past sins.

"This may sound…trite, but I was a different man, then. Jane isn't like you; she holds grudges, and she always felt entitled to a certain degree of attention from me. I cared for her, very much, but I was young, and what I felt for her was nothing like what I feel for you." Ruth's heart fluttered in her chest, at those words. Even now they had not yet spoken the word _love_ to one another; they had skirted around it, made reference to _feelings_ and _desires_ but love had yet to factor into any of their conversations. That she loved him, that he loved her, was a foregone conclusion, but still they had not crossed that line. Harry seemed to draw nearer to it every day, though, and she waited with bated breath. Deep down she was still so anxious, about losing him, about asking for too much, and she needed to hear him say it. They'd made good progress, but they weren't quite there yet, and it rankled.

"She thought she deserved my attention, and I begrudged her that. We were always cross with one another, and I didn't know a damn thing about women or pregnancy or any of it, at the time. I had no idea what she was going through, not really." He sighed. "At your appointment, the other day, I think that was the first time I ever realized just how much this affects you. I want to be here for you, to help you if I can, and I want very much to be a part of our daughter's life." She had known this, in her heart, but it was nice to hear him say nice, to have that affirmation that he was with her because he wanted to be. "Before, I wasn't there, for either of my children's births. Both times I managed to get caught up with something at work, and Jane hated me for it. I mean really, hated me. We tried, for quite a while, to put on a good face for them, but we didn't trust one another. I was unfaithful to her, she was unfaithful to me, and the children suffered for it. When I finally…left, it seemed the best thing for both of us, at the time. I'm still not sure it was the best thing for my children, though."

The waitress came and set their food down in front of them, and for a time they were quiet as they ate and digested Harry's little speech. It was what Ruth had expected, really; she knew about Juliet, and she knew that he didn't get on with his children, but what she hadn't known was how deeply it affected him. He tried to sound detached, as he explained the situation, but she saw the hurt in his eyes. Even now, all these years later, he still felt guilty. Guilt was a feeling Ruth knew rather well, and she found that hearing these words from him only served to draw her closer to him.

"I love my children," he said when he had finished eating, picking up the thread of the conversation where he'd left off. "I always have done, and always will do. I just didn't know, when I was young, how to show it to them. I made mistakes, and they suffered for it."

Ruth offered him an encouraging little smile, at that. She knew a thing or two about how Harry could bungle an attempt to show his affection; their little chat after Ros's funeral sprang to mind. He meant well, though, and she loved him for it.

"You haven't asked about Graham specifically, and I know you must be wondering," he said with a heavy sigh, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," she told him earnestly, while inside she was practically dancing with anticipation. Most of all she had longed to know the story behind Harry's elusive son; what could possibly have tainted their relationship so, that the young man would not answer his father's phone calls?

"Graham was always too smart for his own good," Harry said ruefully. "He liked to brag, liked to tell people things just to show off, and he was forever getting into trouble. More than once he had a teacher throw him out of a classroom for being disruptive and combative. He got into fights, did a bit of petty theft; kid stuff, really, but it was worrying. Jane was convinced it was entirely my fault. And then, when he was about eighteen he…he told Jane that he was gay."

Ruth held her breath, uncertain of how to respond. Of all the many things they had discussed over the years, this particular issue had never really come up, and she had no idea how he felt about it. She dearly hoped that he wasn't about to tell her that he'd reacted negatively to the news; it would change her entire perception of him, and she wasn't ready for that kind of shock this early on a Saturday.

"I don't give a damn who he sleeps with, as long as he's safe," Harry said firmly, and Ruth breathed a sigh of relief, "but Jane went absolutely ballistic. I got all this second hand from Catherine, but she said Jane was screaming bloody murder. Apparently, it was my fault, for not being a 'strong male role model' to him, whatever that means. I never got the chance to speak with him about it, because he assumed I'd feel the same way. I've tried, over the years, to get in touch with him, but he keeps changing his mobile number, and he's never once rung me back."

"Oh Harry," she sighed, wishing that there wasn't a table separating them for this conversation. She very much wanted to slide beneath his arm and press herself against him, wanted to offer him whatever comfort she could.

"From what Catherine tells me he's doing pretty well for himself, these days; whatever troubles he had in his youth he seems to have left them behind him. I just wish I could speak to him, at least once. I'd like for him to know that I still love him, very much."

At this Ruth rose from the table. He looked up at her sharply, worry written all over his face, but that doubt disappeared as she took a seat beside him in the booth, and wrapped her arms around him. It was difficult, what with the table and the size of her baby bump, but she did it anyway.

"You're a good man, Harry Pearce," she said softly, kissing his temple. _And I love you,_ she added silently.


	45. Chapter 45

Time seemed to move in fits and starts for Ruth these days; there were moments when she'd look up and wonder where on earth her day had gone, wonder how the hours could have slipped away from her so quickly, and there were moments when a single minute seemed to last an eternity. The clock was ticking, however inconsistently it might seem to Ruth, and each passing day drew her nearer to the end of this strange journey she'd begun completely unaware all those months before. She had two weeks left, before she moved her things into Harry's home, before she would take her maternity leave and face the reality of her impending foray into motherhood.

It didn't seem real, didn't seem possible that she should have reached this point already. In the beginning, when she'd agreed to Harry's plan to wait to make up her mind about continuing on with 5, she had believed that there was plenty of time left to make a decision, that she would weigh her options and come up with a solution well before the peanut arrived. Now, though, she was no more certain than she had been before, and she had less time than ever.

Part of her could not believe that she was actually considering coming back to the Grid, and part of her could not believe that she was actually considering leaving. Before the peanut, the Grid had been her home, her whole life, the very center of her universe, with Harry as its nucleus. Now, though, she had her daughter to worry about, and her priorities had shifted, suddenly and profoundly. Whatever she chose, she knew that Harry would stand by her, and she took comfort in that fact.

Whatever she chose, she would be gone for at least six months on leave, and it was high time they started searching for her replacement, temporary or otherwise. It was with this objective in mind that she gathered up the relevant file, and trooped into Harry's office one Monday morning.

He was on the phone, rather predictably, so she folded herself into one of the chairs by his office window, watching him with a little smile on her face. At the moment he was in the midst of a heated debate with the H.S., his brow furrowed slightly as they wrangled; they were in the midst of what felt like a million different operations at once, and despite the relative chaos of life on the Grid at the moment, the H.S. was lobbying for an upgrade of their computer systems. The Americans had some fancy new technology that they proclaimed was unhackable, and in a show of good faith, they wanted to share the fruits of their labor. Converting the almost archaic electronic systems on the Grid would require a complete shutdown of all technical activity for a full day, and Harry was bloody livid at the prospect. Surprisingly, Tariq was on Harry's side, staunchly insisting that he didn't want anyone, particularly not anyone from a foreign government, messing about in his programs.

And so Harry was bickering with the H.S., citing the monumental inconvenience of shutting down the Grid, even for a day, and the disaster inherent in running both the American and British intelligence services on the same system. Computers were not, and never would be, Harry's forte, but he had told Tariq to draw him up a list of talking points, and he was employing them all now while Ruth watched from her perch near the window.

It all reminded her forcefully of one of her earliest cases with Section D, when a young boy with a tragic past and a shocking intellect had nearly brought them all to their knees with a few keystrokes. That operation had been a chance for Ruth to prove her worth, but it had also shown her just how vulnerable they were to those sorts of attacks. Oh, the computer systems had been patched and updated here and there over the years, but due to incessant budget cuts and a high turnover in staff they still weren't quite up to snuff. Privately Ruth thought the American system wasn't such a bad idea, but she understood Harry's concerns, and she had the feeling he was going to be railroaded into it, regardless of how he felt or what she said about the matter. With this in mind, she had rather diplomatically chosen not to discuss her opinions on the issue with him.

"Bloody Americans," Harry grumbled as he hung up the phone and finally turned his attention to her. "What can I do for you, Ruth?"

His eyes softened slightly as he looked at her, and she fought the urge to rise from her seat and go to him, to run her fingers through his hair and tell him everything was going to be all right. Despite the fact that they had discovered a newfound closeness in their personal lives they were for the most part still rather hesitant about open displays of affection on the Grid; such public performances were not in their nature, and she respected his position and his authority too much to go all mushy on him when the others could see.

"We need to talk about hiring my replacement," she said, hating the crestfallen look that overtook his features at her words.

"Ruth-"

"I still haven't decided whether or not I'm coming back," she told him quickly, wanting to offer what little reassurance she could. "Either way, I _am_ taking leave, and you'll need someone to cover for me."

Harry steepled his fingers together on the desk and regarded her warily from across the room. "And I suppose you've taken the liberty of researching possible candidates?"

She grinned at him, a bit sheepishly. Technically it wasn't her call to make, but he was so _busy,_ and so damned stubborn, he never would have made the time to do it on his own. "I have. There's one in particular I think may be a good fit for us." Ruth rose ponderously to her feet, pressing her knuckles absently against the small of her back. She wasn't quite to the ungainly waddling stage, but she was perilously close, and some days her muscles pained her more than others. This was unfortunately one of the _more_ days.

"Her name is Martha Howard. She's an analyst with GCHQ. Last year she was seconded to 6 briefly, but Vauxhall Cross sent her back to Cheltenham after six months. Apparently she took issue with some of their procedures, and rather than correct the problem, they got rid of her."

Harry grunted a bit at that. "So she's a GCHQ rabble-rouser. That sounds familiar." For a moment his eyes sparkled at her, and she had a sudden, very childish urge to stick her tongue out at him.

He was flicking through the file, but she knew he wasn't really reading it, and so she gave him the highlights. "Cambridge grad," Harry rolled his eyes; old prejudices die hard. Ruth was an old Oxonian herself, but she didn't share his complete disdain for Cambridge and everything associated with it. "Speaks six languages, Mandarin and Arabic among them," she continued. "She's done good work, and she's demonstrated an ability to adapt quickly, and a no-nonsense attitude. I'd like to bring her in and have a chat with her, as soon as possible."

At this Harry gave up all pretense of reading the file. "If you think she's a good candidate, then by all means, bring her in. If you want to meet with her this week, though, you'll have to do it yourself, I simply haven't got the time."

"That's not a problem," Ruth assured him, taking the file back from him. For a moment she lingered by his desk; she had nothing more to say on the subject, but she also did not want to leave him just yet. In just two weeks she'd be leaving this place, maybe for good, and the thought left her feeling rather lost. How many times had she stood in this room with him? How many moments of titanic importance had taken place in this very space? How many fleeting touches, how many whispered confessions, how many bombardments of grief and outpourings of joy had they experienced in this tiny room, together? In her mind this office was as much a part of him as were his soft brown eyes and his gentle hands; in this room, he was Sir Harry, the man he had spent decades trying to become, the man she had first fallen in love with. She was going to miss Grid Harry, when she left. Now, though, she had Home Harry to look forward to, and that comforted her somewhat.

He seemed to sense some of her discontent, and he reached out to gently squeeze her hand. "Is there anything else I can do?" he asked, and she knew he wasn't talking about Martha Howard.

"No. It'll be all right, Harry," she told him. She squeezed back, once, and then left him there, her steps heavy and uncertain.

* * *

On Wednesday afternoon, Martha Howard stepped foot inside Thames House for the first, and hopefully not last, time in her life. She still couldn't quite believe this was happening. _Ruth Evershed_ of all people had rung her up, and asked her to come down for a chat. Evershed was a bloody legend, at GCHQ; she was one of the success stories, one of the low level analysts whose sheer brilliance had resulted in her being exalted out of the anonymity and ennui of Cheltenham, and catapulted into the glamorous life of a spook. Martha had heard all sorts of things about Ruth Evershed, over the years; her work was infamous, and her achievements nearly unparalleled. Martha had always wanted to meet her, wanted to pick her brain, wanted to find out how the bloody hell she'd _done_ it, and now she finally had her chance.

Security took a long time to process her, double and triple checking her identification until her anxiety reached an almost fever pitch. Martha felt like she was dying in Cheltenham, really, she did. The work was so bloody mind-numbing, and she knew she was meant for more. When she'd finally been granted the secondment to 6, she thought her moment had arrived. Like always, though, she'd put her foot right in it, running afoul of her Section Head almost from her very first day. It wasn't her fault if there were holes in their electronic security any competent hacker could drive a truck through, wasn't her fault if their intelligence cataloguing systems was ancient and completely inefficient, wasn't her fault if no one took her analysis seriously. The rather impolite manner in which she had raised all of these concerns _was_ her fault, and she knew it, and she was determined not to make the same mistake again.

A security guard with a sour demeanor escorted her all the way through Thames House and onto what he referred to as "the Grid", the nerve center at the heart of Britain's counterterrorism services. People and machines bustled all around her, hard at work, and though it was rather loud and rather overwhelming, Martha felt a rush of excitement. The guard pointed out Ruth Evershed to her, and for the first time, she got a good look at the woman who had become something of a role model to her. Ruth was rather pretty, maybe forty years old with soft dark hair and bright, sparkling blue eyes. She was on the phone, chatting away rapidly in French while her fingers all but flew over her keyboard. The security guard caught her eye, and Ruth waved Martha over with a tight little smile.

 _So this is Section D,_ Martha thought as she took a seat next to Ruth's desk. It was marvelous, really. Everyone seemed to be doing something terribly important, just now, and she felt rather small and insignificant in comparison. Insignificant, but dreadfully excited. Martha desperately wanted to be a real spy.

Eventually Ruth ended the call, and turned her attention to Martha. Her gaze was rather disconcerting; her eyes were so clear, their color so deep, it seemed she could look straight through a person, and see their very soul.

"I'm so pleased to meet you," Ruth said, rising from her chair and offering her hand in greeting.

Martha froze for a moment. Ruth Evershed was reaching out to shake her hand, _the_ Ruth Evershed, the woman who had died, the woman who had returned, the woman who had managed to escape Cheltenham and live the life that Martha had always dreamed of. Ruth Evershed was actually _here_ , right in front of her, and most surprisingly of all, she was also very pregnant.

Martha had not been expecting that.

"Hi," she said rather inanely, kicking herself the moment the word passed her lips. Ruth smiled at her gently, but before she could say another word, a pretty blonde woman in a very tight black dress and ridiculously high heels came rushing by them with a bevy of armed officers in tow.

"Right, Ruth, I'm off out," the blonde woman called over her shoulder.

"Wait, Beth, one more thing before you go," Ruth said, and the blonde stopped in her tracks. "Don't forget, we need cat food."

Martha watched in confusion as the other woman – Beth – all but rolled her eyes. _What the bloody hell?_

"Ru-uth," she whined.

"I'm not coming home tonight and we're all out," Ruth said in a very reasonable tone of voice.

"Fine," Beth sighed. "I'll stop at the supermarket."

"Thanks, Beth. Be safe out there. Call if you need me."

"Yes, mum," Beth said with a cheeky grin, and with that she and her team were gone, and Ruth's attention was once more focused on Martha.

"Right, then," Ruth said, but before they got much further, another interruption arrived in the form of a young man with a handsome, earnest face.

"Ruth, have you got-" he started to ask, but the analyst had apparently read his mind, and she lifted a file, seemingly at random, from the chaos on her desk.

"Everything you need to know about your contact is in there. Be careful, Dimitri, this one's a bit touchy."

"Thanks," the young man said, and just like that, he was off like a shot, all but running out the doors.

Martha's head was spinning slightly. So much seemed to be happening all at once, and it seemed to her that Ruth was right at the center of all it.

"Right," Ruth said again, but at that moment, a sharp voice rang out from somewhere behind Martha's shoulder.

"Ruth!" Martha craned her head to look, and found a rather frightening looking man with dark hair and a smoldering gaze striding towards them determinedly.

"Lucas?" Ruth answered.

"I need everything you've got on the Manchester cell," he told her in his eerily quiet voice.

"I emailed you the details this morning," Ruth answered. Tension seemed to crackle in the air between them for a moment before the man nodded and sauntered away, leaving Martha to follow his progress, wondering what the story was behind his fearsome demeanor.

"I'm sorry," Ruth apologized quickly.

"Oh, it's no problem," Martha started to wave the interruptions away, but she quite lost her train of thought as Harry Pearce, _the_ Harry Pearce, emerged from his office and made his way over to them. He was carrying a tie in each hand and wore none around his neck, his brow slightly furrowed as though in confusion.

"Ruth?" he asked softly, holding the ties up as if asking her to tell him which he ought to wear.

"You are kidding," Ruth answered, raising her eyebrow incredulously. Martha watched her in slack-jawed amazement; she never would have imagined an analyst, senior or otherwise, talking to the fabled Head of Section D in such a way.

"Please?" he asked.

Ruth sighed, her lips ticking up in the faintest trace of a fond smile. "The red one," she told him.

"Thank you," he replied, tucking the blue one in his trouser pocket and draping the red one around his neck. Ruth slipped out from behind her desk and took the tie in her own hands, knotting it for him while Martha looked on, desperately confused now.

"Spaghetti Bolognese sound all right, for supper?" Harry asked her in a quiet voice as she straightened his tie. _Oh Christ,_ Martha thought, her cheeks coloring slightly as she recalled Ruth telling one of the other agents, only a moment before, that she wasn't going home tonight. _Am I here to replace Harry Pearce's bloody girlfriend?_

"That sounds lovely. Now go, play nice with the other children."

He grinned at her. "Yes, mum."

As he walked away Ruth sighed, and slumped her shoulders wearily before turning back to Martha. "All right, Martha, let's-"

"Ruth!" This time the interruption came from a young man hiding behind a bank of computer monitors in a suite of offices just beside Ruth's own desk.

"For God's sake, Tariq!" Ruth shouted back.

"I just need-"

"Here, catch," Ruth cut him off, lifting a small USB device from her desk and tossing it in his general direction. Tariq all but fell off his chair in his scramble to snatch it from the air, but in the end he succeeded without damaging himself or the drive.

Ruth wrapped a gentle hand around Martha's arm, and led her away from the madness that seemed to surround her desk. "Quickly now," Ruth muttered, "before someone else turns up wanting something."

As Martha allowed herself to be all but dragged into a conference room, her mind whirled with everything she'd seen and heard. Nothing she'd been told about this job had really prepared her for the scene she'd just witnessed, and she was feeling daunted at the prospect of coming to work in such a place.

* * *

"Right, so, Martha. I see here you've applied for a secondment to 5 a half a dozen times in the last two years," Ruth began once they were settled around the table. She was deeply amused at the introduction to life in Section D that Martha had just received. Such a bombardment of requests and information was not uncommon, on busy days, and if Martha was going to take over for her, she'd need to be able to keep up. "Are you not happy, in Cheltenham?" Ruth continued.

It seemed to her that, like any good analyst, Martha was choosing her words carefully before she spoke. "It's not that I'm unhappy, I just feel that perhaps my talents might be put to better use in other areas," the woman answered finally.

Ruth nodded, and privately, she agreed. There was no need to sit here and go over all of Martha's credentials; that she was smart and capable was given. What Ruth needed to know now was how quickly the woman could think on her feet.

"Martha, I'd like to administer a little test, if you don't mind," she said, leaning back in her chair. The other woman sat up a little straighter, and Ruth noticed a familiar glint in her eyes. Ruth herself had looked that way once, had been young and eager to prove her abilities. Hopefully Martha was up to the task. "Tell me everything you can recall, from what you just witnessed, and what conclusions you've drawn."

Martha closed her eyes for a moment, clearly thinking hard, marshaling her thoughts, and Ruth watched her closely all the while.

"You live with an agent called Beth, and you have a cat, who apparently has run out of food. You're dating Harry Pearce; not married to him, as you're still living with Beth, but you're very close. He's your baby's father?" this last was delivered as a question, but Ruth remained still as a stone, waiting for the rest of it. "You don't trust Lucas, and he knows it. You feel protectively towards Dimitri, perhaps because he's rather young and maybe a bit too naïve. You harbor some good-natured frustration towards Tariq, maybe because he's a bit eager and you've been around too long to put up with his enthusiasm. You've called me here to see if I can replace you while you're on maternity leave. How am I doing?"

Ruth didn't even try to hide her grin. "Martha, I think you're doing rather well."

* * *

"So it went well then?" Harry asked her later, as they lay on his sofa together, her feet propped up in his lap and _Eine Kliene Nachtmusik_ floating softly out of his record player. Ruth had been complaining that her feet hurt, and the next thing she knew she was laid back against a pile of pillows, and Harry was treating her to what was, quite simply, the best foot massage she'd ever received. It was difficult to focus on her interview with Martha when his hands on her skin were so distracting, but she tried to rally.

"I think so, yes. I like her. She's rather blunt, but she's very bright, and she's very intuitive. She reads people well. I think that once she gets used to things, she'll do quite well."

Harry grunted. He'd been doing that a lot today, she noticed. "She won't do as well as you," he grumbled.

"You have absolutely no way of knowing that."

It would be hard for him, she knew, to see someone else sitting at her desk, taking her place in briefings. Ruth was finding it rather hard herself, to imagine anyone else doing her job; the Grid was her life, and the team was her family, or they had been, before the peanut, and she couldn't imagine trusting anyone else with their welfare. But the job had to go to someone, and Martha Howard seemed the best candidate for the position. A bit starry-eyed, perhaps, but Ruth had been that way herself, once.

"I trust your judgment," Harry said after a long period of tranquil quiet. "If you think she can do it, we'll bring her on board."

Ruth struggled to pull herself upright, floundering a bit as her bump made even that small maneuver infinitely harder than it had been eight months before. She leaned across the space between them, and kissed him gently. "I may not be on the Grid, Harry," she told him softly, "but I'll be with you here, and so will the peanut. When you need me, I'll still be here."

He wrapped his arms around her, and once more they kissed. They lost themselves in one another, and did not emerge for quite some time.


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed the rather light-hearted chapter 45, as things are about to get a little more serious, and will stay that way for quite some time. We're in the home stretch now, though! Thank you for staying with me on this meandering journey, and for all your enthusiasm and kind words of support. This chapter follows episode 9.6.**

* * *

GCHQ and Harry both signed off on Martha's secondment, and she was set to start her time on the Grid the day after the Americans finished upgrading the computer systems. Non-essential personnel weren't allowed on site during the transition, anyway, and her clearances hadn't quite come through yet.

Ruth was looking forward to both Martha's arrival and to the electronic systems overhaul with no small amount of trepidation. She had reached the thirty-two week mark, and she knew the time had come for her to take a step back from life on the Grid. She felt as if she'd grown big as a house, and though she was loath to admit it, she knew the stress of her job was the last thing she needed right now. There were finishing touches to put on the nursery, there was the delivery of her things to Harry's house to be arranged, there were doctor's appointments and swollen feet and a baby still without a name, and on top of everything, she'd started to feel the first rumblings of Braxton-Hicks contractions, that relatively painless but deeply troubling clenching of the muscles surrounding the peanut that only served to remind her just how little time she had left. On the Grid she often worked late into the night, and was constantly having to be on her toes, and she knew it was not the sort of lifestyle she could carry on, at this stage, much as it rankled.

And so she had finally given in to Harry's quiet insistence, and agreed to start her leave after spending a few days helping Martha get adjusted. She would have liked to have had a month, at least, to train the new girl, but time was running out, and she would have to make the most of what little she had left.

And then there was the systems overhaul to fret about; the installation of Cybershell was being touted by the H.S. and the CIA as the perfect remedy for the out-of-date British systems, but the process itself worried Ruth more than any potential issues that might stem from running both nations' computers on the same network. No non-essential personnel on the Grid, all personal electronic devices banned, a bevy of American soldiers and one mysterious CIA cryptographer all descending on her beloved Grid at once added up to one catastrophic concoction, in her mind. And to cap it all, Harry had determined that Lucas ought to be the one to go and fetch the cryptographer. Lucas, who had grown steadily more despondent and increasingly unpredictable; Lucas, whom Harry trusted for reasons that he could not articulate; Lucas, who kept looking at Ruth like she was something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Yes, she had agreed to trust Harry, and yes, she had halted her investigation into the man, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about it. In point of fact, she was absolutely bloody livid about the whole thing. The night before the Cybershell operation, she tried to talk to him about it.

They were lying in his bed (soon to be _their_ bed), slightly sweaty and tangled up in one another after an uncharacteristically acrobatic round of love making during which they'd had to be extraordinarily creative in order to accommodate the size of her stomach and her own depleted energy levels. He was, as he so often did when they lay together like this, gently resting one hand on the rise of her belly, and she tangled her fingers with his as she started to speak.

"I know we agreed not to discuss this in bed, Harry," she began. Beside her he turned his head and buried his face in her hair, groaning.

"Ru-uth," he started to protest, but she carried on, heedless.

"I don't think Lucas is the right person for the job. I understand that you trust him, Harry, and while _you_ may be certain that whatever it is he's doing is on the level, you have to admit that emotionally he's…unstable, just now."

Harry dragged himself up into a sitting position, scrubbing his hands over his face wearily.

"I trust him implicitly, Ruth," Harry replied. "I have assured Towers that I would send the best man for the job, and right now, that man is Lucas."

"Why not Dimitri?" she pushed. "He gets on well with everyone, he's more than capable of both making a good impression on the Americans and delivering their agent safely."

"He's also very young, and has been on the team for less than a year," Harry pointed out.

Ruth ground her teeth in frustration. All they needed was an agent who knew how to drive; why was Harry so convinced that it _had_ to be Lucas? Why wouldn't he just bloody listen?

"Harry-"

"It's going to be fine, Ruth," he assured her. "Everything will be smooth sailing tomorrow, you'll see."

She grumbled a bit at that, but then he leaned in to kiss her neck, his hands gentle on her skin, and she sighed in resignation. Harry was bound and determined to get his way, and in just a few days she'd be leaving the Grid behind. Whatever was going on with Lucas, she had to have faith that Harry knew what he was doing. _Pactum Serva._

* * *

"I'm worried about Marcus," Beth admitted, taking a sip of her wine. Tariq had come round to the flat for dinner, in order for them to discuss their growing fears about Lucas in private. It was rather nice, having a friend over for a meal, even if their original purpose had been entirely work-related. Ruth was moving out the next weekend, and she'd be leaving most of her furniture behind, for which Beth was thankful. She had almost none of her own, and it was kind of Ruth to offer to leave her things for Beth to use, though the offer carried with it the unspoken suggestion that Ruth needed a contingency plan, should things not work out with Harry. In just a few short days Ruth would be gone (most likely) for good, and Beth was dreading having the flat to herself. At least with Tariq here, she could pretend for a little while longer that everything was all right.

"When's the last time you heard from him?" Tariq asked around a mouthful of curry.

"It's been four days. He's never gone that long without making contact." Beth had driven all around London, checking all the usual spots, but Marcus was nowhere to be found, and his mobile had been cut off. The next step, she supposed, would be ringing the hospitals, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. What if he had been hurt, or worse? What if it was because of her? He was such a _nice_ boy; she didn't want his death on her conscience.

And then there was the matter of the man he'd spotted with Lucas, all those weeks before. Nothing had twigged on facial recognition, and Beth had taken to staring at the composite during quiet moments, studying his features and asking herself over and over _who the hell is he?_ They had just enough information to know that Lucas was up to something, and not nearly enough to determine what that something was. Beth felt as if a dark cloud was hanging over her head, following her everywhere she went, waiting for just the right moment to let loose a torrent of horror.

"Have you rung the hospitals?" Tariq asked.

She shook her head glumly.

"I'll do it for you, if you like?" he offered. It was a rather kind gesture, and she appreciated it.

"Maybe once this Cybershell mess is done, yeah?" she said.

Tariq's face darkened at the very mention. "That's going to be a fiasco," he muttered.

Beth knew he'd been against it from the start, and she understood his frustrations, really she did, but it seemed to her that if the systems were out of date, then they ought to be upgraded, and the fact that the Americans were offering to do it themselves seemed to be icing on the cake.

"Oh, cheer up," she said, trying to sound more optimistic than she felt. "It won't be so bad."

* * *

Cybershell _was_ a bit of a fiasco, in the end. Lucas went spectacularly off-base, a team of Russian and Chinese hackers nearly brought them all to their knees, and to cap it all, the American cryptographer died while in British custody. Ruth was absolutely bloody furious; she had _told_ Harry it was a bad idea, sending Lucas out like that. As far as Harry was concerned, though, whatever Lucas had done to delay the arrival of the cryptographer was a godsend, as it prevented the installation of Cybershell during a full-scale technological attack, which would have rendered both the British and American security services completely helpless. That the girl had died in the process seemed to him to be unfortunate, but not enough of a negative to outweigh what he saw as a generally desirable outcome.

It was times like this that Ruth was starkly reminded of just how fundamentally different they were. Harry still possessed the ability to be cold-hearted when it suited him, to cordon off his emotions and be brutally pragmatic. Though Ruth's own capabilities in that department had developed over time, she could not bring herself to a point where she believed that the girl's death was an acceptable loss.

They were in his office, after, in the midst of a very quiet, very intense row.

"I bloody _told_ you, Harry," she all but hissed at him, trying to keep her voice low so that their team would not bear witness to their disagreement. "We have no idea if he's telling the truth or not about what happened to the girl, and we have no idea where he went. What did she see? What if-"

"I am sick to death of you questioning me on this!" Harry fired back. "Lucas has done nothing to make me question-"

"He has done _everything_ to make you question him, you just refuse to see it!"

"That's enough," Harry said in a deadly quiet voice. Ruth recognized that tone all too well; her Harry, Home Harry, was nowhere in sight as Grid Harry leaned over his desk, his hands balled into fists, his knuckles digging into the polished wood as he rested his weight on them. "Lucas has told me what happened, I believe him, end of story."

Ruth was so angry she felt the prickle of tears at the corners of her eyes, and turned away so he would not see them. "What does he have to do, Harry, for you to listen to me? Who else has to be hurt before you'll realize that he is not who you think he is?" Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, and she knew he would mistake the cause of that tremor for sorrow, rather than rage. So be it; she didn't care what he thought of her, so long as he _listened_ to her _._

"Give me proof, Ruth," Harry said heavily, dropping back into his chair with a sigh. "If you're so certain he's gone rogue, give me proof."

 _I have!_ She thought dejectedly. _Haven't I?_

* * *

"Beth, could I speak to you for a moment?" Tariq had appeared beside her without a sound, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when he spoke. Everything was very quiet, just now; Ruth and Harry were closeted in his office, Lucas had filed his report and disappeared, and Dimitri was just staring at the wreckage all around him as if he couldn't quite believe he'd been allowed to detonate a bomb on the Grid, and had no idea where to begin cleaning it up.

Numbly Beth followed Tariq into the forgery suite. The computers were back up and running, and had survived the carnage of Dimitri's improvised explosive.

"I've got two pieces of news," Tariq began.

"Good news first, please," Beth all but begged him; she was in dire need of some good news just now.

"It's just bad and worse, I'm afraid," Tariq responded. "I was tracking Lucas's mobile, and I think that's how the hackers were able to lock onto him." The techie looked absolutely miserable at this pronouncement. "I think they used my software to follow him. If I hadn't been-"

"This is not your fault," Beth cut in. "If Lucas had come straight back like he was supposed to, the girl never would have died. That's nothing to do with you."

"Maybe," he allowed, though she could tell from his face that he didn't believe it.

"Where did Lucas go?" she prodded gently.

"That's the first piece of news. I don't know why, but he went to Malcolm's."

"Malcolm?" Beth had heard that name before, but to be honest, she had no idea who the man was.

"Malcolm Wynn-Jones. He used to be the Senior Technical Officer on the Grid. He's an old friend of Harry and Ruth's, and he worked with Lucas. He retired just after Ruth came back."

"What the hell would Lucas be doing there?"

Tariq shrugged. "I have absolutely no idea. I tried ringing him, but I didn't get an answer."

Beth went cold at the thought of what Lucas could have done to the former officer. "Do you have his address?" she asked.

"Here," Tariq handed her a small piece of paper and she tucked it in her pocket.

"What's the other piece of news?" she asked, wondering what could possibly be worse than this.

"I'm so sorry, Beth, but I found Marcus. At St. Thomas's. He's dead. Strangled."

Beth's legs all but gave out from underneath her, and she sank into the nearest available chair, burying her face in her hands.

 _Oh Marcus, Marcus what have I done to you? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…_

Marcus was dead, and all because of her. Why hadn't she done more to protect him? How could she have chosen to drag him into this madness with her, that poor, bright young man with his earnest smile and his tender heart? All he wanted was a bit of food and a place to sleep, and it had cost him his life. _She_ had cost him his life.

 _I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry…_

* * *

It was entirely too late for her to be out, but Beth wouldn't rest until she knew that Malcolm was all right, that he had not also fallen victim to whatever nefarious schemes Lucas was involved in. She had to see him with her own two eyes, speak to him, had to convince herself that all was not lost. As she drove Marcus's face swam before her eyes, and more than once she found herself so blinded by tears that she nearly had to pull over. Frustration and guilt and confusion and doubt washed over her in waves, and with each passing second she felt herself slipping away, drowning beneath the weight of her mistakes.

She parked the car in a short drive beside a sturdy brick house, its front garden lush and lovingly tended. She dragged herself up the steps, her heart pounding maddeningly in her chest. _Please be all right, please be all right, please be all right;_ she repeated the words to herself like a mantra, over and over again, desperately hoping that when she knocked on the door there would be someone inside to answer it.

The lights were off, but that was to be expected, given the hour. She marched right up to the door and rapped on it smartly, stepping back and holding her hands at the ready, wondering what on earth she'd gotten herself into.

Two full minutes passed with no sign of life inside the house. She knocked again, waited again. Rang the bell once, twice, three times, feeling almost nauseous now with nerves. Still no answer.

Finally she reached out, and tentatively turned the door handle. It gave beneath the pressure of her hand, and the door swung open silently. Beth's heart was beating so loudly now, the rush of blood in her ears the only sound she could hear, and belatedly she realized how foolish it was, rushing out here with no weapon and no backup plan. Tentatively, she stepped into the house.

The house was empty, as it turned out, much to her consternation. There was not a stick of furniture or a person in sight as she wandered from room to room, confusion mounting. This was definitely the right place, definitely the address Lucas had absconded to earlier in the day, but there was no sign of Malcolm Wynn-Jones or his elderly mother; in point of fact, there was no sign that anyone had ever lived here at all.

 _I have to talk to Ruth,_ Beth realized as she let herself back out of the house. Something was terribly, terribly wrong, and she had no idea what it was. _Ruth will know what to do._


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: This chapter follows the beginning of episode 9.7**

* * *

When Beth dragged herself inside the flat, the lights were off, and the cat was curled comfortably on the sofa, one eye cracked open and watching her blearily in the darkness. Ruth's bag was hanging on a peg by the door, the only evidence that her flatmate was currently in residence. Beth sighed when she saw the bag; she was glad that Ruth was home, but given the state of silent darkness she'd encountered upon arriving home, she could only assume that Ruth was asleep. It wouldn't do to wake her just now, no matter how troubled Beth was; Ruth was eight months gone, and had endured enough stress for one day. Beth's worries would have to keep for a few hours more.

She shuffled into the kitchen with a vague notion of fixing herself a cup of tea and a bit of toast; while she was busy filling the kettle, she heard the sound of Ruth's bedroom door opening, heard the quiet rustle of the other woman walking down the hall.

"Beth?" Ruth's voice was soft and gentle, and Beth found herself feeling rather relieved. The prospect of spending the entire night stewing over what she'd learned today was grim indeed, and she was grateful for the chance to unburden herself to Ruth. _Ruth will know what to do,_ she thought. _Ruth always knows what to do._

Beth turned to face her, offering her a tired little smile. Ruth's petite frame only emphasized the size of her rounded belly, so much more obvious now that she was dressed in a pair of soft cotton shorts and a t-shirt, rather than the endless parade of long skirts and cardigans she wore to the office.

"I'm glad you're awake," Beth told her. "I need to talk to you about something."

Ruth nodded, and waddled over to the table, collapsing into a chair with a sigh, rubbing her hands over her face in a familiar gesture that was equal parts exhaustion and apprehension. Without another word, Beth finished making her tea with a cup for Ruth besides, and joined her at the table.

 _Where do I start?_ She wondered. Ruth was clutching her mug in both hands, staring down at her tea as if she hoped she might find the answers to their questions inside. _Go back to the beginning_ , she told herself.

"I know you told me to stop looking into Lucas," she began, flinching as the weight of Ruth's ocean-blue gaze shifted away from her tea, and onto Beth. There was something about Ruth's eyes; they were mesmerizing, in a way, and Beth was suddenly, sharply reminded of the story of Medusa, whose gaze turned men to stone. Oh, Ruth didn't have snakes for hair, but she could trap you with a look, freeze you in place and make you spill all your secrets.

"Oh, Beth, you didn't," Ruth sighed, running her fingers through her hair.

Beth took a deep breath, and told her the whole story, starting with her plan to use homeless men as assets, and going all the way through Marcus's death, and her trip to Malcolm's house earlier in the evening. By the time she finished her throat was scratchy and raw from speaking so much, and Ruth had once more dropped her eyes down to stare unseeing at her tea.

"I'm so sorry, Beth," Ruth told her sadly. "I never should have involved you in this."

The way she spoke, it sounded almost as if _she_ felt responsible for what had happened to Marcus, and Beth wanted to laugh aloud at the absurdity of it. There was only one person to blame for that, and that person was Beth herself. She might as well have strangled the boy herself, so complicit had she been in his ultimate downfall. If she'd done as Ruth asked, if she'd been more careful, none of this ever would have happened.

"We have to tell Harry," Ruth continued, and Beth felt her insides go cold at the very mention of his name. What would Harry do, when he learned of her betrayal?

Before she could give voice to her fears, there came a gentle knock on the front door of their flat.

"I'll get it," Beth told her; Ruth had a hard enough time moving around these days as it was, and Beth wasn't going to give her cause to exert herself unnecessarily.

Beth moved cautiously down the hall toward the door, her heart pounding in her chest. _Who the bloody hell is knocking on our door at half past two in the morning?_ She wondered. One possibility sprang to mind immediately, and when Beth opened the door to find Harry standing on the other side, she wasn't surprised in the least.

"Miss Bailey," Harry said, still using his best Grid voice despite the lateness of the hour and Beth's relative state of undress and the fact that they both knew he was only standing on her doorstep because he'd come round to grovel to his lover.

Beth stepped aside, wordlessly holding the door open for him. He entered the flat, and she closed and locked the door behind him. They hesitated there in the foyer for a moment, each of them wondering whether they ought to say something to the other.

Beth broke first.

"She's in the kitchen, and I'm going to bed," she told him quietly, and just like that she left him, making her way back to her bedroom. Let Ruth explain this whole sorry business to Harry; Beth was too tired, too emotionally and mentally and physically drained, to even consider such an undertaking. And besides, Harry would take this news better, coming from the one person he loved more than anything in the world.

 _Good luck, Ruth,_ she thought.

* * *

Ruth was not entirely surprised, when Harry came walking into her kitchen. They'd fought, at the office, and she had told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted to be left alone tonight, so of course he had come to her, the way he had done before, his eyes beseeching and sorrowful, all at once. She couldn't find it in her heart to be cross with him; after everything Beth had told her, she was actually glad that he had come. There was so much she needed to tell him.

"Ruth," he spoke her name on a dejected sigh, tucking his hands in his pockets and rocking on his heels in her kitchen doorway, concern and doubt radiating out of him in waves.

Ruth finished her tea, and dragged herself to her feet.

"Come to bed, Harry," she murmured, crossing the kitchen to stand by his side. She reached out and folded his hand in her own. For a moment he stared at her in confusion, but then he seemed to finally process her words, and he gave her a sad little smile and squeezed her hand.

Ruth led him to her room and shut the door behind him, wishing it could be that simple for them to hide themselves away from the horror of their lives outside those walls. Harry looked as tired as she felt; he stood still as a stone, and let her divest him of his jacket, tie, and shirt in short order. There were no fleeting kisses, no teasing caresses, no whispered promises of desire; she was helping him undress because she wasn't entirely sure he could manage it on his own, trying to tell him without words that she forgave him, that she loved him, that he was safe, here with her. His belt and trousers were the last to go, and when he was stood before in nothing but his trunks, they wound their fingers together once again, and made their way to the bed together.

He wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her temple.

"There are things I need to tell you," he murmured sleepily. For her part, Ruth had things to tell him, too, but they were both much too tired and much too sad to get into all of it tonight.

"Sleep," she told him. "We'll talk in the morning. Sleep now."

And so they did.

* * *

When Ruth woke in the morning, Harry was gone. He'd left a note under her mobile on the nightstand. _Ruth,_ it said, _I thought you'd earned a bit of a lie in. Took the liberty of turning off your alarm. We'll talk when you get to the office. –H_

Of all the bloody arrogant, self-righteous things to do! It was Martha's first day on the Grid and Ruth had intended to be there when she arrived. A quick glance at her mobile told her it was already well past nine in the morning; she launched herself out of bed as quickly as her pregnant body would allow, and dragged herself off to have a shower, swearing like a trooper all the while. _Bloody Harry,_ she thought, _bloody meddling Harry._

Her anger festered throughout her commute, though it wasn't all directed at Harry. She was angry with herself, too, for not speaking to him about Beth's concerns when she had the chance. That was one conversation she didn't want to have with him on the Grid; in her mind she imagined he'd be much more willing to listen if they were curled up in bed together, rather than facing off in his office. He had taken that choice away from her, and though she knew he was only trying to be considerate, the fact that he had decided she wasn't capable of doing her job made her absolutely livid. It was a bit hypocritical of her, she knew, to be cross with him when only just a few weeks before she'd told him herself that it was time for her to take a step back, but this felt different, somehow. Making that decision on her own was one thing; hearing it from Harry only made her feel like a failure.

By the time she made it to Thames House she'd worked herself into quite a state, and she was spoiling for a fight. Martha was waiting for her, sitting behind her desk bright-eyed and eager as a puppy, and Ruth struggled to contain the groan that nearly escaped at the sight. Martha gave her a little wave and started to approach her, but Ruth turned on her heel and made a beeline for Harry's office instead. _First things first,_ she told herself.

She barged into Harry's office and found him standing by his desk, clutching a large white envelope, his face a study in remorse. That expression drew her up short; what could possibly make him look so forlorn, so hopeless? She did not forget her anger, but she pushed it to the side, concern and compassion for him taking its place for a moment.

"Harry?" she kept her voice low; there was an eerie sort of stillness to his office just now, despite the bustling chaos of the Grid beyond those walls. There was something tomb-like about the air, rarified and still, and it terrified her.

"This came for you via the Greek Embassy," he told her, holding out the envelope. Ruth took it with trembling hands; for a moment she fancied she could hear the dim sound of a gunshot, echoing in the vault of her mind, followed by the alien sound of her own screams. _Nothing good could can from this_ , she thought.

"We set up a forwarding address under your alias; standard procedure after an extraction," Harry continued in a voice heavy with regret. Every word he spoke seemed to pain him, but still he carried on. Ruth could not look away from the envelope in her hands. "It's about the house you owned with…George."

They had not spoken about him, not really, in the nearly two years that had passed since his death. For so long George had seemed to stretch like an ocean between them, preventing them from facing one another, and though they had touched on her life one night as they lay together in her bed there was still so much left unsaid. A question rang in the air between them, a question asked and never truly answered. _Did you love him?_

Ruth knew the answer, felt it in every fiber of her being; _no._ The answer was _no,_ she had never loved George, would never love George, could never love George, not as she loved Harry, but she could not bring herself to say it so plainly. It felt like a betrayal of the worst sort, to admit that she had never loved him, and he had died for her anyway.

"His family need to sell it, and, erm, they want your permission. There's a letter in there too. I'm sorry, Ruth." Harry continued to speak, his eyes on her all the while, but Ruth could not face him. The envelope in her hand felt heavy as a gun. "This must be-"

"It's fine," she cut him off, unwilling and unable to have this conversation with him just now. It was all too much: Harry's baby, heavy in her stomach; Lucas's betrayal, heavy on her mind; Beth's heart, drowning in self-recrimination; Martha's eyes, eager to please and utterly unaware that she had signed her life away. All Ruth wanted, in that moment, was to go home, go back to sleep, and not wake up for a long, long time. "I'll take care of it," she told him, and with that she turned and all but fled from the room, willing herself not to cry.


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N: The timeline in 9.7 is a bit blurry (as is so often the case with Spooks) so I have edited it to suit my purposes. I hope you will forgive me.**

* * *

"Ruth, are you busy? We've got a walk-in downstairs, says he's got some information."

Barely five minutes had passed, between her leaving Harry's office and Dimitri's sudden intrusion into her private misery, and in that short time she'd barely had the opportunity to glance at her letter from Greece. She'd opened the envelope in the relative safety of her desk, a little photo of Nico falling out to land among the detritus of her files. Ruth didn't miss the curious expression that flitted across Martha's face as the woman sat beside her like an over-enthusiastic shadow; Ruth had snatched the photo up as quickly as she could, shoving it back inside the envelope, wishing she could escape this place. The Grid was her home, always had been, always would be, but right at this moment it was suffocating her, memories swaddling her like too-heavy blankets on a hot summer night. And through it all, no time to grieve, no time to rest.

"Since when do we deal with walk-ins?" she asked him, her voice wavering as she tried to catch her breath, tried to marshal her thoughts, tried to assume the same level of calm detachment that served Harry so well in moments like these.

 _Oh, Harry._

Dimitri explained all about their counsel snooper, while Ruth's shoulders sagged in resignation. She knew all too well just how busy Dimitri was at the moment, and much as she might long to foist the insistent Mr. Deery off on Martha, it was the poor girl's first day on the job, and it just wouldn't be fair, wouldn't be kind, to send her down there all unprepared.

And so Ruth left Martha in Tariq's capable hands, trying to hide her smile as the techie launched into a complex explanation of the Grid's computer systems and Martha's eyes glazed over. _That ought to keep her busy for a while,_ Ruth thought with some satisfaction, and made her way to meet with Mr. Deery.

There was something unsettling about Keith Deery, she decided as she listened to his bumbling explanations. He seemed kind and well-intentioned, but there was something in his eyes, something sad, and broken, and lost, something she recognized all too well.

The background check confirmed it; Deery had lost his wife, and from the looks of things, he'd never quite recovered. _Poor sod_ , Ruth thought sadly, staring at his photo on the computer monitor. Some losses, once felt, can never be overcome; she knew what it was like to be submerged in grief, had felt the teeth of the black dog sinking into her back. _That could have been me,_ she thought, her hand reaching of its own accord to rest atop that dreadful white envelope. Could have been, but wasn't, because her life with George had been a lie, the love she proclaimed to him in the still of the night no more real or lasting than a ring of smoke upon the wind. George had died for that lie, Nico had been orphaned for that lie. A lie she told willingly, for no other reason than that she was lonely, and George was kind. She felt as if she were cursed, destined to bring only pain to those closest to her. Peter had loved her, and his love was not requited, and he had died. George had loved her, and he had died as well.

Her eyes flicked towards Harry's office for a moment, fear rising in her gut. _Will I lose him, too?_ She wondered. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility; his was a dangerous job, and he had more than enough enemies.

"That's what we in the trade call 'an unreliable source'," Dimitri concluded. Ruth tried valiantly to focus on the present, but when she spoke, some of her grief broke through.

"Well, he did lose his wife," she pointed out.

"Eight years ago," Dimitri fired back, as if that explained everything.

"What's the time limit on grief?" she asked him tartly. As if such a thing existed, as if every person recovered the same way; the sheer naivety of Dimitri's attitude left Ruth exhausted.

"What, for normal people? Or for us?"

 _He has no idea who he's talking to,_ Ruth realized. Dimitri didn't know, couldn't know, what Ruth had been through upon her return from Cyprus. He had never seen George, had never heard the sound of Ruth's devastated screams, had not held her as she wept and bled in a hospital bed, wishing she could trade places with him. Dimitri was young, and brave, and resilient, and he had not yet learned that some wounds never heal. _One day he will. One day this job will take everything he has, and he will be left with nothing but the taste of ashes in his mouth._

* * *

She went to him, once her anger had cooled, as ready to share Beth's discoveries as she was loath to face him. For his part Harry stood still a stone, listening to her summary of Beth's surveillance, and the strange trip Lucas had made to Malcolm's home. If her words had any impact on him, his face gave no sign.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," he told her when she was done, and his cool words sent a shock of fear up her spine. The American cryptographer was dead, that poor homeless boy was dead, and now Malcolm and his mother had vanished without a trace; why wasn't Harry _doing_ anything?

"Ruth," he sighed, finally, his voice breaking the unbearable tension that had risen between them. He crossed his office, leaning up against the front of desk, his slumping posture putting him nearly on her eye level as she stood before him.

"Some new information has come to light on the Dakar bombing in '95. I want you to collate everything we have on it."

 _What the bloody hell is this?_ She wondered, completely lost. They were supposed to be talking about Lucas now, but Harry had got sidetracked somewhere along the way, and she wasn't happy about it. The night before, as he'd fallen asleep in her arms, he'd said that he had so much to tell her. Well, Ruth had unburdened herself. Wasn't it his turn?

It was, but now was neither the time nor the place to press him, she decided. It had been a strange day, and was only getting stranger. Ruth wasn't up to a confrontation with Grid Harry just now; better to wait, let them both cool off, and try again tomorrow. Or maybe tonight; maybe she could go round to his tonight, after work, and curl up beside him on the sofa, his hand resting gently on the swell of her stomach, and ask him for the truth.

"I'll look into it," she said, trying not to sigh. One more thing to add to her ever-growing pile of duties.

"No, just collate the information and give it to Beth."

He seemed determined to confuse her; why ask for her help, only to turn the file over to Beth? If she understood him correctly, he was only asking her to do a bit of data gathering, work any junior analyst could do with one hand tied behind their back. Martha could probably do it, once she learned how to access the internet from a Grid computer.

"Don't you need an analyst on this?" she asked him, equal parts bewildered and frustrated that he should be giving her such a menial task.

"Ruth, our personal situation does not mean you can question everything I ask you to do."

It wasn't like him to be this patronizing, and Ruth hated being left out of his confidence. Always before he had trusted her, implicitly, with all the darkest parts of himself. Why not now?

"No," she allowed. "But it doesn't mean you can freeze me out either."

"You'll be leaving us in just a few days, Ruth. I don't want your attention tied up with this."

She took a step back, keenly feeling the need for some distance between them just now. "Do you really think so little of me, Harry? Of my abilities? I can do this work. Or is this about something else? Are you cross with me about Lucas?"

Harry heaved a great sigh and scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Ruth, look, neither of us are what you would call emotionally forthright. But this morning, when I saw how you reacted to that letter, a lot of things suddenly made sense. I think you still blame me for George. For not protecting the boy. I think you believe that had it come to a choice, I would have let you die too."

His voice was soft, and kind, but it did nothing to calm the frantic stuttering of her heart. Ruth took another step back, and dropped into one of the chairs by his office window. No, they weren't _emotionally forthright;_ their baby was due in just four weeks' time and they spent more nights together than apart in recent weeks and yet they still could not speak aloud their feelings for one another, still struggled to admit the darkest yearnings of their hearts. This confession from Harry, his belief that she blamed him, shocked her to her core. How could he think that, when the truth was that Ruth blamed no one but herself for George's death? How could they have misunderstood one another so completely?

Ruth had never for a moment even considered what Harry might have done, had Mani held that gun to her head instead. In hindsight that was rather remarkable, given the circumstances and the fact that Mani had very nearly killed her, when he realized he was caught. _Would_ Harry have let her die? If the choice had been between watching her die or handing the uranium over to a coalition of terrorists, what would he have done? Two years ago she would have believed, unequivocally, that Harry would have let her die. She would have believed that his own moral code would not allow him to let such a weapon fall into the wrong hands. Now, though, watching him across his office, feeling the weight of their love for one another heavy on the air, she wasn't sure. She didn't want to know the answer, really, and she prayed she'd never have to.

"Harry," she whispered his name on a broken sigh, shocked to find tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

He was beside her in a moment, clasping one of her hands between his own.

"Do you know what I felt, when Mani brought you into the warehouse that day? I dreamt, for years, about seeing you again, and there you were, in terrible danger, because of me. I would rather die myself than lose you," he told her earnestly, his dark eyes boring into her own. "I would let the whole world burn to save you."

"And you would be wrong," she choked out the words. It would be wrong, to make such a sacrifice in the name of one person, no matter how noble or romantic the sentiment. It wasn't their job to be noble; it was their job to do the unthinkable, to sacrifice everything in the hopes of keeping the world safe from harm. They'd done it often enough, surely Harry would have learned that by now.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe you're not the only one who should think about retiring, once this little one comes along."

She looked up at him sharply, the details of his face blurred through the haze of her tears.

"Do you mean that?" she asked him. He had not made that sacrifice for Jane, or for Catherine, or for Graham; how could she ask that of him now?

"My children need me, all three of them, and I'd quite like to be around to enjoy their company for many years to come. I have become this job, Ruth, but you've shown me that there are some things in life more important than standing on the wall."

She knew she shouldn't have done it; they were in his office, with the blinds open and a clear view of the Grid beyond them, but she couldn't help it. She leaned over, and brushed his lips with her own. They were going to be all right; they were going to be free.

* * *

Beth didn't quite know what to make of Harry's request that she find out what Lucas was doing in Dakar, but she did as ordered, dutifully slogging through all the information Ruth had gathered and adding to it as she went. That Lucas had been there was true enough, working as a bartender at a high-end casino, but this was all a matter of record. What did Harry think she was going to find?

It was mind-numbing work, but there was a part of Beth that was distinctly grateful for the relatively boring nature of her findings. If she discovered something truly explosive, it could only be evidence of Lucas's betrayal, and she was terrified of what that might mean.

She worked on it for a full day and into the next before she finally found what she was after; it was an old photo of Lucas from the casino's archive, standing with another a man.

A man with shaggy blonde hair, and a painfully familiar face.

Beth shot out of her chair, scrambling through the papers on her desk until she found the one she wanted before running straight into Harry's office.

"Harry, I've found something," she said in a rush, almost tripping over herself in her haste to show him the photographs.

"What am I looking at?" Harry asked her.

"This is Lucas in Dakar in '95. And this is a composite of a man Lucas was seen meeting in Battersea Park."

"Christ," Harry swore, lifting the composite in his hands.

"Harry?" Beth was utterly bewildered; there was something about Harry's face; he recognized this man, she realized belatedly. All the time she'd wasted trying to hunt him down electronically, and all she needed to do was bring the photograph to Harry. She was kicking herself even as her mind spun into high gear, trying to figure her way out of this mess.

"Where's Lucas?" Harry demanded sharply.

For an instant they just looked at one another, before Beth got hold of herself and bolted from the office, Harry hot on her heels.

Back on the Grid she cast about frantically, but saw no sign of their renegade Section Chief. "Where's Lucas?" she barked, coming to a stop near Ruth's desk, Harry standing just behind her.

"He just left," Ruth answered, her face a picture of confusion.

"Right, all of you, meeting room, now," Harry said darkly.

 _This is not good, this is so not good,_ Beth thought.


	49. Chapter 49

Harry looked around at his team, wishing for the thousandth time that they weren't all so bloody young. Things would be different, if it was Tom and Zoe and Danny and Malcolm sitting across the table from him, if it was a team of spooks with years of experience and battle-hardened souls, rather than these young pups who had yet to learn the true cost of their job. Among them, only Ruth truly understood, only Ruth truly lived their motto, _Regnum Defende._ Ruth had defended the realm, by his side, for years now, and she knew what it meant, to give her all to the service. Dimitri and Beth had only been with him for a few months, still learning their way around; Tariq had been on the Grid for longer, but he was not a field agent, not meant for true espionage; and then there was Martha, only two days into her job, still thinking the whole thing was a bit of a lark. _Thank God for Ruth,_ he thought grimly.

He was going to have to tell them the whole bloody story, he knew. They were looking to him for answers, for guidance, and he had little enough of that to give. What would they think of him, he wondered, when his sorry tale was done? Likely they would think him soft, once they knew his reasons for showing Lucas such leniency. Only Ruth would understand how he had been manipulated by the man, only she would understand how Lucas had found a way to use his one weakness against him. And, he thought, she would likely hate him for it.

"Right. We haven't much time, so I need your full attention, please. A bit of background on the situation. As you may know, Lucas North spent eight years in a Russian prison after he was captured in the field. He was sent there on my orders; I have known the man for decades and we share a certain history. Upon his return from Russia, Lucas immediately rejoined the team, and he has proven his loyalty time and time again. I am still not convinced that he has turned traitor," at this Ruth's mouth dropped open in soundless fury, but Harry barreled on, heedless. "And I have my reasons for believing this."

Harry took a deep breath. He had kept so much secret from them, and on the surface that didn't particularly bother him; secrets were their stock and trade. What bothered him was that he had kept secrets from _Ruth_ , the one person he trusted above all others, the only person who might have been able to help him, had he only shared his concerns with her. She was going to be livid, by the time he was finished, but he could not go back and alter the course of history. He had made his choice, and the time had come to face it.

"In 1995 Lucas was a brand new agent on my team, and he was briefly seconded to Six for a mission in Dakar."

 _Ah, she's beginning to put it together,_ he thought, watching as the light of realization slowly dawned in Ruth's eyes. It was a marvelous thing, watching her mind at work. He had never encountered another living soul with an intuition to rival hers. Most of the time, he loved her for it, but there moments, like now, when he wished she wasn't quite so quick on the uptake. She'd have her mind made up about the situation before he ever had a chance to explain himself, and then where would they be?

For her part Beth was staring at him in horror; he had set her to looking into Lucas's time in Dakar without telling her why, and he wondered what sort of conclusions _she_ was jumping to. _No time for that just now,_ he chided himself.

"Dakar was a hotbed of international espionage at the time, and there were rumblings of a potential threat to British nationals in the city. As it turns out, the British Embassy there _was_ attacked. Lucas was unable to stop the bombing, but he was able to partially evacuate the Embassy, and in the end seventeen lives were lost, when it could have been closer to fifty. Six brought him back in disgrace, for not having been able to stop the attack completely, and he returned to Five, where he belonged."

He paused for breath, taking the opportunity to assess the current mood of the room. _Four of them are confused, and one of them is furious,_ he decided, looking around at all of them dejectedly. He stood alone, near the head of the table; he was too full of nervous energy to sit, just now, adrenaline rushing through his veins, making him feel breathless and alive.

"Several months ago Lucas came to me with a request. He had reconnected with a woman he had known before his imprisonment, but he had discovered that she was gravely ill and unlikely to survive. I gave him permission to go and see her, as often as he was able."

It was entirely out of character for him, he knew, to grant such a boon, but he had done it, because how could he not? Harry knew very well what it was like to love a woman, to lose her, to pine for her, and then have her returned to him battered and broken and so different from his memories. When Ruth had come back from Cyprus Lucas had been there, had been the one to kill Mani, to save her life, had seen her weeping, her face buried in her hands, unable to say a word save for his name _._ Lucas had cut the ties on her hands first, once the scene was secure, and Ruth had remained in her chair, crying and saying only _Harry_ , _Harry, Harry_ over and over again, her voice rough and shaking. As soon as his own hands were free Harry had gone to her, had pulled her into his arms and cradled her against his chest while she sobbed, and Lucas had seen it all.

When he looked at her now, he could almost watch the scene replaying her mind, as well, could see that she knew full well how Lucas's story might have spoken to his heart.

"That's where I believed he was going, all the times that he was not where he said he was. In retrospect this was not the best decision I could have made, but I felt I owed a debt to Lucas. He had missed out on nearly a decade with this woman, in service to his country, and I thought he deserved a chance to say good-bye to her properly."

"But she isn't ill," Beth protested in a weak little voice. Harry tried not to glower at her, really he did, but he was nowhere near finished with his tale, and he did not have the patience for such interruptions at this juncture.

"I am aware of that, Miss Bailey," he snapped, regretting his tone but not allowing any of that remorse to show on his face. _You're boss spook_ , he reminded himself. _Remorse is for lesser men._ "It's clear now that Lucas lied to me, in that regard. Several months ago, he came to me and said that he had been approached by a man he had known in Dakar. This man was looking for access to confidential files, and he was trying to blackmail Lucas into retrieving the files for him. He had threatened the woman, and apparently he had something else to lord over Lucas, though I'm not sure what that might have been. I saw this an opportunity; Lucas assured me this man was behind the bombing in Dakar, but we know he was not the brains behind the operation. We need to know who ordered it, and for that we need Lucas to bring him in. I'd also quite like to know who's behind his current machinations, and to that end I encouraged Lucas to go along with this charade."

Harry reached out, and lifted up the composite photograph that Beth had given him just a little while before.

"This man's name is Vaughn Edwards. Lucas and I met with him yesterday morning, and he claimed to have some evidence regarding the bombing in '95. After we had spoken to him, Lucas revealed to me that Edwards is the man who has been trying to blackmail him. Edwards is also likely the man responsible for murdering your friend Marcus," he added to Beth. "We need Edwards, but I fear that Lucas's concern for his lover has clouded his judgment."

"What do you want us to do, Harry?" Ruth asked him a quiet little voice.

Christ, he loved her voice. Most of the time it was soft and warm and gentle, but when she was in a passion - or a fury - it could tremble, it could reach such a crescendo, it could cut right through the heart of him. At this moment, it was low and worn, echoing both her exhaustion and her absolute dedication.

"We find Lucas, we find Edwards, and we put a stop to this, now."

* * *

Harry gave them each a task, even Martha, and sent them all scurrying from the room, save for Ruth.

She wasn't particularly surprised by this; he often kept her back after a briefing, to go over some salient detail he considered too volatile to share with the group at large, or to voice some concern he did not want to burden the others with, or simply to reassure himself that she was in agreement with his plans.

Since he had first revealed the truth behind Lucas's many absences, Ruth had been staring at him in horror, unable to wrap her mind around what he had done. _Stupid man,_ she thought as she watched him; how could he have fallen for such an obvious trap? Lovers, torn apart by duty, reunited in horror, bound by grief; Lucas had chosen the perfect lie with which to ensnare him, and Harry had swallowed it whole. If only he had bloody _told_ her, she could have warned him against such folly, but he had shielded her from it, no doubt wanting to keep her from recollections of their own misery.

It was clear that Harry believed Lucas was still on side, still running the op as ordered, if in a rather reckless way, but Ruth did not share his certainty. Was it really possible that Lucas could have lied about the woman, and nothing else? Why had Lucas not revealed Edwards's identity sooner? Just how involved had Lucas been in the plot to bomb the embassy, and what did Edwards have over him that would make him behave in such a way? There were entirely too many questions, and it didn't seem like Harry had any of the answers.

"Before you say anything, I know I made a mistake," he told her softly. Ruth leaned back in her chair, her hands clasped protectively over the swell of her stomach.

"What about Steven Owen?" Ruth asked him suddenly as the young man's face swam before her eyes; had Harry known that the boy was innocent, and sent him off to face imprisonment anyway?

"Owen really did steal that money, Ruth. He had a gambling habit, it's all very well documented," Harry replied. She studied his face; whether it was true or not she still wasn't sure, but Harry certainly believed it.

"You told me Lucas wasn't running an op for you," she said slowly, as she turned her thoughts to every conversation she and Harry had ever had about the man.

"Officially, he wasn't," Harry protested weakly, and if Ruth hadn't been pregnant, if her back didn't ache and her feet weren't swollen and her whole body didn't feel as if it were under constant attack from the inside out, she would have launched herself to her feet and struck him in the face.

"That's bullshit, Harry," she spat. _How dare he? How dare he make such a distinction, how dare he lie to me, how dare he treat me as if I'm some junior agent he can deceive at will?_

"I thought the less you knew about it, the better."

"I can't believe you, Harry," she said, her voice shaking.

Before he had a chance to defend himself, Dimtri appeared, poking his head around the door.

"Harry, there's a man called Malcolm Wynn-Jones here to see you. He gave all the proper codes, and he's waiting in your office."

Harry never once took his eyes from Ruth's face. "Thank you, Dimitri, we'll be along in a moment."

Ruth's hands were shaking with barely controlled fury, her stomach roiling. Dimly she felt the fluttering of another Braxton-Hicks contraction, and wished for the thousandth time that this wasn't happening _now_ , when she was so consumed by her personal problems that they seemed to cloud her every thought.

"Will you come with me, to speak to Malcolm?" Harry asked her.

She gave him a little nod, and rose ponderously to her feet. Harry's hands reached out to steady her on instinct, but he drew back at the last moment, as if unsure how such a gesture might be received. Ruth loved this man, loved him with everything she had, and no matter how cross she might be, she hated the thought of him holding himself back from her. With a trembling hand she reached out, and twined her fingers with his, giving him a little squeeze.

"When this is over, Harry, you and I need to have a serious talk about retirement," she told him.

She knew now that there was no other choice for them. They had seen too much, done too much; if they stayed in this job much longer, it was going to eat them both alive.

As they made their way across the Grid, Martha tried to impede their progress, bouncing anxiously on the balls of her feet.

"Keith Deery has come back, Ruth, and he's asking for you," she said breathlessly. Through the glass windows of Harry's office Ruth could see Malcolm's lanky silhouette, and her heart rose into her throat at the familiar sight.

"I haven't got time for him just now, you'll need to send him on his way."

Martha looked as if she were about to protest, but Harry and Ruth carried on heedless of her concerns, their fingers still interlaced as if they never intended to let one another go.

As they passed through the door into Harry's office she got a good look at Malcolm for the first time in nearly two years. He was thinner than he had been, with significantly less hair, but he looked healthier. Some of the pallor had gone from his skin, and he seemed less tense, more open than she could recall him being since before Colin died. On impulse, she all but threw herself into his arms.

Malcolm let out a startled little sound when she flung her arms around him, but he returned her hug just as fiercely. Historically they hadn't really done hugging, Ruth and Malcolm, but time had changed them both, and the sight of her dearest friend had unleashed an unexpected torrent of emotion in her heart.

"Ruth," he sighed as they parted, "it's wonderful to see you again."

His eyes grew round as dinner plates, when he took in the sight of her distended belly.

"This is a surprise," he stammered, blushing slightly, unable to keep his gaze from flicking to Harry for a moment, as if trying to gauge with just one look how his former employer felt about the situation.

"Harry didn't tell you?" Ruth asked, confused. They still spoke on occasion, she knew; how could Harry have kept this from him?

For his part, Malcolm blushed all the harder at the implication of her words. "I suppose congratulations are in order?" he said hesitatingly, his gaze darting back and forth between the pair of them like a spectator at a tennis match.

"Thank you," Harry and Ruth said together. His voice was gruff and hers was kind, and together they had just told Malcolm everything he needed to know about the subject. He nodded, and stared at the floor for a moment, clearly trying to marshal his thoughts.

"Malcolm, did Lucas come to see you?" Ruth prodded gently, folding herself into one of the chairs by the window and trying not to groan as the ache in her back rose to a crescendo.

"Oh! Yes, he did. That's why I've come."

"Why don't you start at the beginning, Malcolm?" Harry asked as he dropped into the chair behind his desk. Malcolm nodded, and took a seat next to Ruth, breathing a heavy sigh before he began to explain.

"Lucas came to see me three days ago. He wanted a file, gave me some story about you being in trouble, but it didn't ring true."

"What file, Malcolm?" Ruth asked him.

For a long moment Malcolm regarded her in silence, and then he turned his gaze to Harry.

"Albany," he said.


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N: I know this may not be quite what you've signed up for, but this is what we've been building to all along, and I thank you for your patience, and for all your lovely reviews. Hang in there, y'all!**

* * *

 _Albany._

With that one word, Harry felt his whole life crack open, fall away, shatter into splinters at his feet in a hail of glass and broken dreams. _Albany._

He wasn't really listening, as Malcolm carried on with his tale; one quick look at Ruth's face showed him she was more than attentive enough for the both of them, just now. Instead of sharing her concern, Harry lost himself in a haze of memories. The Albany project had failed, many years ago, back when he was a young agent and tasked with its protection. The powers that be had kept the fiction going, convinced that the very idea of such a weapon would be enough to keep their enemies at bay, and so far, it had worked. That those same enemies might covet such technology was not outside the realm of possibility, he knew, and it seemed that now this particular chicken had finally come home to roost. Harry had been part of a team that told the world they had the power to kill _very_ discriminately, based on any combination of genetics they chose, and now the world demanded that technology for itself.

That the weapon didn't work was scant comfort; whoever had sent Edwards after it was well informed, well connected, no doubt well funded, and bloody ruthless. They would have to be, to lust after such a weapon in the first place. Lucas and his paramour were likely in grave danger, and Malcolm, too, now that he had been identified as one of the few Brits still living who had worked on the Albany project. Where would this end? he wondered. How far would he have to go, to protect his nation's secrets? Was he willing to sacrifice Lucas and the woman, Malcolm, maybe even himself, to protect a weapon that never worked? Would it even come to that?

As his thoughts wandered, his eyes come to rest on Ruth. His Ruth, his beautiful, brilliant, steadfast Ruth, large with child and fairly vibrating with anxiety. _She shouldn't be here_ , he thought sadly as he watched her. Ruth had tried to leave, near the beginning of her pregnancy, had tried to tell him this was no place for her, and he had selfishly begged her to stay. It seemed the tables had turned on them now, though. Ruth was determined to stay, determined to work, determined to see this tragic farce through to its conclusion, and Harry was desperate for her to leave. He wanted her safe, far away from whatever madness lay in store for him.

"Harry?" she asked him, her glorious blue eyes huge and round as planets in the dim light of his office. "What do we do?"

"We carry on," he told her gruffly. "The team is searching for Lucas and Edwards now. While they try to track them down, we have to come up with a contingency plan. I want to save Lucas, if I can, but we cannot give up Albany."

 _Regnum Defende. Whatever the cost._

* * *

 _This is impossible,_ Beth thought glumly as she trawled through call longs and GPS records, trying to determine where Lucas had gone once he'd left the Grid. As always he'd been two steps ahead of them; he'd left his mobile in his desk drawer, and his car was still parked at Thames House. There had been no trace of him or Edwards on CCTV, yet, but they had thousands of feeds to search and only a handful of analysts. Harry had sent out orders to bring in every available analyst and field agent from every section of Five, determined not to let Lucas slip through their net, but the reinforcements were slow in coming, and the clock was ticking.

None of it made sense to Beth. Not Harry's strange story about Lucas and the woman (or the strange look that passed between Harry and Ruth as he explained it), not Lucas's refusal to name Edwards before yesterday morning, not Dakar, not any of it.

At the moment Harry and Ruth were closeted in his office with a man Beth had never met before, a man called Malcolm. Ruth had mentioned him, a few times; as far as Beth was aware, Malcolm was Harry and Ruth's only living friend. He wasn't at all what she expected; in her heart, Beth believed that only the strong survived, and she had gotten it into her head that this Malcolm must have been like Harry, brutal and hard and belligerent. He wasn't though; he seemed kind and gentle and had been unfailingly polite during their brief interaction. Erudite, soft-spoken, self-effacing; these were not the sort of traits Beth associated with the survivors. _Perhaps there are many different kinds of spooks,_ she mused while she worked. _Perhaps Harry's way isn't the only way._

Hours passed, hours of frantic chaos and whispered conversations and unspoken terrors. Through it all Ruth seemed to wilt like a flower; she had hardly spoken, since leaving Harry's office, and every now and again Beth glanced her way just in time to watch her flatmate's brow furrow momentarily, as if in discomfort. _I wish she would just go home,_ Beth thought sadly as she watched it happen again; Ruth didn't need to be here, mired in this twisted game of cat and mouse; she ought to be at Harry's putting the finishing touches on her nursery, picking a name for that bloody baby, resting, _something,_ anything that wasn't sitting here scrambling to produce a miracle under intolerable pressure.

Before Beth could say anything to her about it Tariq twigged. His explanation made no sense to Beth, not that it mattered anyway; she grabbed a firearm and Dimitri's hand and ran for the door.

They had a possible location for Lucas, and no time to spare.

* * *

They caught up with Lucas and Edwards at a park. Bizarre that, finding these two gruff, grizzled, fearfully dangerous men sitting together on a park bench on a beautiful sunny day while children played all around them. _It's a funny old world,_ she thought as she marched across the park, drawing her gun when she locked eyes with Lucas.

He rose slowly from the bench, as Beth came into view, holding one hand out in front of him in a calming sort of gesture.

"He's down, Beth. He needs a doctor," he told her. "You need to get him patched up, and then he'll tell you everything he knows."

Behind her Beth could hear Dimitri calling for an ambulance; she took a tentative step forward, and recoiled sharply when her gaze landed on the blade thrust deep into Edwards's thigh.

"Jesus, Lucas, did you have to stab him?" she asked incredulously.

"It was either that or shoot him, and given our location I didn't want to start waving a gun about," he told her with a pointed look. Beth took the hint, and tucked her gun back into waistband of her trousers, hiding it beneath her jacket.

"You really think he'll talk?"

Lucas nodded. "He's already told me he's working for the Chinese, and they're going to try to make contact with me. Look, Beth, I can't come in. I need to see this through. Maya's in terrible danger, because of me. Take Vaughn back with you, but please, let me go. Let me go, now, before they come looking for me. Give me a chance to fix this."

Beth had never actually heard Lucas North beg before, hadn't thought him capable of such a thing, but he was pleading with her now. _What do I do? Oh God, what do I do?_

Should she take him at his word, let him run, and cart Edwards back to Thames House, dripping blood as he went, and hope for the best? Or should she refuse him, insist he check in with Harry, and risk losing Edwards's employers, and possibly killing Lucas's lover in the process? _Harry trusts him,_ she reminded herself as she regarded him warily. _What would Harry do, if he were in your shoes?_

"Do you think they're watching you?" she asked him very quietly, her lips hardly moving.

"I don't know. Maybe," Lucas cast around, as anxious as deer.

"I don't like this, Lucas, I don't like this at all." She took a deep breath. "Promise me you'll call in? Within the hour."

He gave a barely perceptible nod. "I promise."

She wanted to shake his hand and offer him her help, wanted to slap his face and damn him for a betrayer, but before she could make up her mind she heard the wailing of sirens in the distance.

"Run, Lucas."

* * *

 _Oh Beth, Beth, what have you done?_ Ruth thought morosely as the girl came trooping back through the door with Dimitri and a very nearly unconscious Edwards in tow. She had called in from the field, to explain that Lucas was still running the op, that the Chinese were behind it all, and that Edwards should have more information for them, once the medics had patched him up. Harry had seemed to take her unilateral decision in stride; he did not outright condone her giving Lucas free reign, but he had tendered no rebukes, either.

Ruth wasn't sure what to make of that. It was clear to her that Harry was still willing to trust Lucas, and that Beth in her naiveté was still willing to trust Harry, but Ruth did not share their certainty. Lucas had _lied,_ had used his knowledge of her and Harry's past to manipulate their boss into a corner, and now there was this man Edwards to deal with as well. He'd been in Dakar with Lucas, had been seen meeting with him in Battersea Park, had apparently wrangled a meeting with Harry independent of his nefarious dealings with Lucas; who the bloody hell was he, and how did all of these pieces fit together?

That was her job, making sense of the insensible, but she just couldn't quite get it to make fit. Harry and Beth disappeared into the meeting room with Edwards, and a part of her keenly felt the slight at her having not been invited to join them; surely she should have been in there, to evaluate his information and prod Harry in the right direction, yet no request had been made for her presence.

"Are you feeling all right, Ruth?" Martha asked, leaning around her monitor to peer at Ruth with an expression of genuine concern on her face.

"Fine," Ruth answered shortly.

Martha returned to her work with a faintly harassed air about her, but Ruth didn't have time to worry about the new girl's feelings. She needed to know what was happening, and she was getting no closer to the answers.

* * *

Vaughn Edwards had never been a pleasant man, Harry knew. They'd had their fair share of dealings in the past, trading money and favors for information, and his evaluation of this man had always been that he was rather slimy, completely without morals, and utterly craven. As he worked with Beth to unravel the tale of Edwards's deceit, it seemed that the man was determined to prove all his prior assumptions as fact.

Edwards spilled his secrets, desperate to save his own skin. Yes, he'd been the brains behind the bomb in Dakar in '95, funded by a group of unnamed British intelligence services personnel who, as a sort of precursor to the antics of Jocelyn Myers and his cronies, had decided that "short term chaos for long term stability" was to be their cause du jour. No, he couldn't name names, and besides, it was so bloody long ago, they were all probably dead by now, weren't they? As for his current employers, well, all he would say was that they were Chinese, that they were willing to do whatever it took to secure Albany, and that they had set their sights on Lucas, having lost all faith in Edwards himself. After all, why waste their time with the middleman when they could go straight to the source?

After nearly two hours of listening to Edwards's drivel, Harry called the medics, and had the man dragged off the Grid and shipped back to a hospital to recuperate under the watchful eye of an armed guard. When they had the room to themselves, he turned his attention to Beth. She looked pale but alert, concerned but very much engaged, and he felt a brief flash of pride. In the beginning Harry had been uncertain how Miss Bailey would work out, in the long run, but she was turning into one hell of a spook.

"I can't decide if you were very brave or very foolish in letting Lucas go earlier," he told her quietly.

Beth offered him a tight, uneasy grin. "We need information, and for that, we need Lucas. He can't do us any good in here. With any luck, the Chinese will make contact, and he can tell us more about their plan."

Harry nodded. "Did he say anything about checking in?"

Beth's face fell. "He was supposed to call within an hour of our meeting in the park."

 _Perhaps she's not quite as good as I thought,_ Harry thought ruefully. "It would appear that our Section Chief has not kept his word."

"Maybe he did call, and they just didn't want to disturb us?" Beth suggested hopefully.

Harry shot her a withering look, and departed without another word.

* * *

Still, the day dragged on, and no word from Lucas. Ruth was digging through intercepts on Chinese assets currently at work in London, trying to determine who might be capable of organizing the kind of support Edwards needed to pull off his daring plan. So far, she'd found nothing, and with each passing second her anxiety grew.

"Oh, no," Martha sighed as she hung up her phone; the sound of her voice dragged Ruth from her reverie.

"What is it?" Ruth asked her, rather reluctantly. The last thing she needed just now was more bad news.

"It's Mr. Deery, your counsel snooper. I'm so sorry, Ruth, but he was found murdered in his home."

It felt to Ruth like an explosion had taken place inside her head; her ears were ringing, her heart was pounding, her sight had gone blurry. _He was right, he was bloody right and I wouldn't listen, I fobbed him off, I ignored him, and now he's dead, oh God, he's dead…_

He'd seemed like such a sweet man, Keith Deery. Sad and awkward and bloody uncomfortable to be around, but earnest and well-meaning, and Ruth had treated him with disdain. Maybe if she'd been willing to listen, maybe if she had ignored Dimitri's voice saying _that's what we in the trade call an unreliable source_ and followed her instincts that poor, dear man would still be alive. Who had done it? _Why_ had they done it?

There was no time to spare for following that trail ( _no time to grieve,_ a little voice whispered in her mind) and Ruth stood up sharply. She regretted this immediately as she wobbled on her feet and dark spots swam before her eyes and she reached out to clutch her desk, desperate to steady herself.

"Harry!" Martha cried at ear-shattering volume, leaping to her feet in alarm.

He came thundering out of his office like a charging bull, and made a beeline straight for Ruth, wrapping one arm around her waist and holding her upright. _Oh, Harry,_ she thought sadly. Dear Harry, always there when she needed him, always something real, something solid she could cling to.

"All right, Ruth?" he asked her, his voice no more than a whisper.

"I just stood up too fast, I'm fine," she protested weakly.

"Bollocks," he fired back. Carefully he eased her down into her chair, and then pulled his mobile from his pocket. She listened as he rang his driver, feeling entirely too out of sorts to defend herself against the deluge of his over-protective instincts.

"I don't need to go home, Harry, I'm fine."

"You're not fine, you damn near passed out," he told her, not unkindly. "Go home, Ruth. Get some rest. Please."

"Harry-"

"If you won't do it for yourself, do it for me, please. Do it for little Sophia," he added, a ghost of his playful self sparkling in his eyes for just a moment before the reality of their situation reasserted itself and the devastation crept back in.

"We're not calling her Sophia," Ruth told him absently. She'd been feeling funny all day, dizzy and out of sorts, and as much as she couldn't bear the thought of leaving, she knew she was doing no one any good. Harry stayed with her until his driver arrived to escort her off the Grid, and when he helped her from her chair, he took her by the hand and walked her to the pods, and there in front of God and everyone he kissed her on the cheek.

"I'll think more clearly, knowing you're safe at home," he told her. "Get some rest."

Ruth wanted to complain, but she was just so bloody _tired;_ she gave him a weak little nod, and allowed his driver to lead her through the pods, and out of sight.


	51. Chapter 51

It was hours since Ruth had left, and still no word from Lucas. Fear had been Beth's constant companion throughout the ordeal, keeping her running when all her other reserves had failed. Their enemy remained nebulous, unknowable and all-powerful, with nothing more to go on than the knowledge that whoever they were pursuing was Chinese. Considering the fact that there were more than one billion Chinese people in the world, that was less than helpful. Though she believed that Harry had done the right thing in sending Ruth home to rest, Beth couldn't help but miss their senior analyst's gentle guidance, just now. Ruth had always been their steady center ground, the one person who could be counted on without reservation, the one person who held all the answers, and without her not only were they lost, but they were sniping at one another as well.

At least Malcolm had stuck around; the moment he'd finished delivering his news to Harry and Ruth he'd been swept into the forgery suite with Tariq, and though Beth hadn't seen him since, she was grateful to know that they had someone with his experience on their side. She wasn't entirely sure it was kosher, having him on the Grid; Harry had watched the other man disappearing behind a bank of monitors, caught Beth's eye and said "mum's the word," as if she was about to go running off to rat him out to the DG at the first opportunity. She wasn't entertaining any such notions; they needed all the help they could get.

She rose from behind her desk, rubbing her eyes and stretching her shoulders, and decided to go check on the techies. Maybe they were having better luck than she was.

"How are we doing, boys?" she asked, trying and failing to sound upbeat. They regarded her wearily; they were all exhausted, and no relief in sight, not until they made contact with Lucas.

"We've all but given up on finding Lucas, to be honest," Malcolm said with a delicate little cough. "He's well trained, and he knows how to avoid being detected, if he chooses. We're hoping that Doctor Lahan is less careful."

Beth nodded; it made sense, in a way, to track Lucas's lover rather than the man himself. Edwards had told them the Chinese had threatened the woman; that meant either the Chinese had her, and finding her would lead straight to their enemies, or Lucas was keeping her somewhere safe, and finding her would lead straight to him. Either way, it was a promising tactic.

"Any luck?" she asked, knowing the answer before the words passed her lips. Of course they'd had no luck. If there had been any leads, Tariq would have gone tearing across the Grid, shouting all the while.

The pair of them shook their heads in tandem, and Beth gave them a sad little smile.

"She'll turn up," she said softly.

Before she had a chance to explain her own failures, Martha peered around the doorframe and murmured, "Harry's asking for you, Beth, Malcolm."

Beth still wasn't quite sure what to make of Martha. The woman had only been on the Grid for two days, and already some of the light had gone out of her eyes. _It's not all flash cars and expensive cocktails, is it?_ Beth thought ruefully as they beat a path across the Grid to Harry's office. People learned quickly in this job; they had to, or they died. Martha was still figuring out the lay of the land, but so far she'd been helpful and efficient and had not uttered a word of complaint, and Beth supposed that all boded well for her future in the Section. _If she can get through this, she can through anything._

And as for Malcolm, he was something of a mystery as well. He'd been calm and kind and solicitous to a fault, and apparently Harry trusted him enough to include him in this, despite his having been retired for nearly two years. Beth had to wonder at that, at what sort of history must exist between them to give Harry such faith in the man, when he seemed to be beset on all sides by betrayal and intrigue. Malcolm was quiet as they traversed the grid together; whatever secrets he knew, he was keeping them close to the chest.

Inside Harry's office the man himself was seated behind his desk, and Dimitri was perched on a chair by the window, his whole body taut and tense with barely suppressed anxiety.

"Good of you to join us," Harry said drily as she closed the door behind her. "Do have a seat."

Beth swallowed her sharp retort and did as she was ordered. Everyone was on edge, just now, and she had no intention of fanning the flames. While she sat, Malcolm remained standing by the doorway, wringing his hands.

"I've just had a very interesting phone call," Harry said tersely. "From our Chinese friends."

 _About bloody time,_ Beth thought peevishly. At last they were getting somewhere, but she knew better than to be excited about the prospect. Likely whatever Harry was about to tell them was not good, not good at all, and she dreaded it. That Lucas had betrayed them was a foregone conclusion in her mind; he had promised to ring, and he hadn't. He had said he was trying to fix things, but he'd done absolutely nothing to demonstrate his willingness to cooperate. He had lied, he had obfuscated, he had damn near killed Vaughn Edwards with the thrust of a knife entirely too close to his femoral artery, and these were not the actions of an innocent man.

"I have been told that unless I deliver Albany by dawn tomorrow, they're going to kill Ruth."

 _Jesus Christ._ He'd said it so matter-of-factly, as if he were merely discussing the weather, and not the imminent murder of his pregnant lover. _Surely he has a plan?_ Beth thought dazedly, her heart pounding in her chest. Ruth was probably at home asleep right now and all Beth wanted in that moment was to get up and run, run straight to the nearest pool car and slam her foot on the pedal and not stop until she was at home, with Ruth, certain that her friend was safe and well. _She only has one day left, before her leave starts,_ Beth thought numbly, _she doesn't deserve this, oh please, not now._

"Harry-" Malcolm started to protest, his face horror-stricken, but Harry cut him off.

"Ruth is at my house, with several of our best agents keeping an eye on her as we speak. If anyone tries to come near her, they will be shot on sight," Harry said calmly. There was a vein throbbing in the side of his neck that belied his blasé tone; whatever he said, he was worried about her, desperately worried, and Beth couldn't blame him in the slightest.

"So what do we do, Harry?" Beth asked him, willing her voice not to shake.

"We can't move Ruth, it's too risky. She stays where she is, and we keep surveillance in place on her until this is over. In the meantime, Miss Bailey, Mr. Levendis, the three of us are going on a little expedition."

"What?" Malcolm asked, clearly startled. "Harry, you can't be serious-"

"They want Albany, so we're going to go and fetch it. Not the real thing, of course," he added when he saw Malcolm's eyes very nearly pop out of his head at the very suggestion, "I'm not totally insane. But something convincing enough to buy us some time."

"These people know what they're doing, Harry, they're bound to be able to recognize a fake, no matter how good it is."

Harry sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. "I'm hoping it won't come to that. We've got a line on them now, Malcolm, and while I'm out I want you and Tariq to throw everything you have at them. I want names, I want faces, I want their bloody dates of birth."

"Don't underestimate these people, Harry. They know enough to target Ruth-"

"I'm not sure they came up with that idea on their own, Malcolm. Lucas North is out there, somewhere, and we have no idea what part he's playing in all this."

Silence fell for a moment, each of them indulging their own private fears. Beth had a pretty good idea what part she thought Lucas was playing; going after Ruth was the sort of suggestion that could only come from someone who knew Harry well, knew his weaknesses and how to manipulate them. Lucas had already proved himself to be a mastermind at that.

"I still can't quite believe it," Malcolm said quietly. When he and Harry spoke to one another, Beth felt as if she and Dimitri had ceased to exist in their minds. It seemed to her as if they were merely picking up the thread of a conversation interrupted long ago, carrying on where they'd left off as if nothing had changed. "Not after everything he's been through for us, Harry. For you."

Something passed between them in a glance, some memory that Beth and Dimitri were not privy to, and for the thousandth time she bristled at having been so thoroughly cut out of the loop. Even after spending all this time working with Harry and Ruth together, watching them communicate with nothing but knowing glances and gentle nudges, she still hadn't adjusted. It felt as if she'd been unceremoniously dropped in a foreign country, where she didn't speak the language and no one would look her in the eye.

"You know as well as I what Lucas has lost in service to his country; perhaps the loss of this woman is one sacrifice too many. I certainly know how he feels in that regard." Harry's last words were uttered so quietly that Beth almost didn't catch them, but she felt her heart clench at the sorrow in his tone.

"You're certain she's safe?" Malcolm asked.

"As certain as I can be."

At this Malcolm nodded. "Right, then. I'll go and speak to Tariq, see if we can trace the phone call they made to you. Before you go, let's fit you all with trackers, just to be safe."

And just like that, they were off and running.

* * *

Ruth tossed and turned in Harry's bed, unable to get comfortable, unable to rest, no matter how badly she wanted to. Harry's driver, Mike, had brought her straight here, never asking her if she'd prefer to go to her own flat instead. Ruth hadn't bothered arguing with him; the poor man was just following orders, and no matter how presumptuous it had been of Harry to send her here, she knew the gesture had been made in good faith. She _had_ protested, however, when Mike insisted on escorting her inside, and plopped himself down at Harry's kitchen table, refusing to move until a pair of armed agents arrived and took over his vigil. That seemed to be a tad excessive, she thought. No threats had been made against her, or Harry, or indeed any of the team, and the fact that he had set armed guards to watch her (as well as God only knew how many agents in the obbo van parked discretely across the street) infuriated her even as it frightened her. Did he know something she didn't? Why wasn't he saying anything?

When she first arrived Ruth had taken a bath and had a bit of a pout, and then she'd propped herself up in Harry's study with a hot drink and a good book. Scarlet had come to keep her company; the poor dog was much too old to go jumping into her lap, and Ruth was much too nervous to try picking her up given that they were both in somewhat delicate physical health, but they'd kept each other company, Ruth curled in Harry's armchair, Scarlet curled by her feet. Reading had been a fruitless exercise; her worry for Harry and the team left her thoroughly distracted and unable to process a single word on the page.

Eventually she'd given up, and gone downstairs to fix supper for herself and her minders. She'd eaten at the table, and the agents had taken turns patrolling the house, checking all points of entry, murmuring to one another too quietly for Ruth to hear. That rankled, too. _See if I ever cook for you again,_ she'd thought in huff, and carted herself back upstairs.

And now it was getting on towards ten o'clock, and much as she wanted to sleep, she just couldn't seem to close her eyes. The peanut was currently resting with her feet up near Ruth's sternum, and every once in a while she felt a little nudge as her daughter moved. As the kicking started up again Ruth laid a hand across her stomach, and was quite surprised to find that she could clearly feel the peanut's foot, pressing against her skin. Ruth pressed back ever so lightly; the peanut responded, the pressure increasing against her fingertips.

 _Hello, little one,_ Ruth thought, grinning brilliantly as they continued their game. Ruth would give the peanut a nudge, and the peanut would nudge back, and each time it happened, her heart seemed to grow in her chest with love for this little person who one day soon would come screaming into the world.

 _I wish your daddy was here, love,_ she thought. _He'll be so excited, when he hears about this._

For a time she lost herself in thoughts about just how odd this process was, this process of incubating a new little life beneath her skin. Her whole body felt as if it had been squished and squeeze and shuffled around like leaves in a storm, her stomach grown so big she'd all but given up any hope of defending herself against the inevitable stretch marks, and she was still weeks away from what would undoubtedly be the worst part of the whole strange journey. Ruth had done a lot of research, over the last few months, and as much as it terrified her, she'd resolved to get through the birth without any pain medication, if she could manage it. It wasn't that she had any negative feelings towards those women who chose the medication; this was by all accounts going to be the greatest physical pain she'd ever endure in her entire life, and the very thought left her feeling daunted. Ruth had just always been the sort of person who believed in a natural approach, wherever possible, and she wanted to apply those beliefs to the birth of her child. She only had one chance to get this right, and she didn't want to take any risks.

She let loose a long, despairing sigh and dragged herself out of bed; if she couldn't sleep, she fully intended to find her way back to Harry's study and make another attempt at reading. He had such a wonderful collection of books, did Harry; as she pulled his dressing gown on over her pajamas, she wondered idly how on earth they were going to fit her books in this house, when all his shelves were already full to bursting.

 _We'll just have to buy more bookshelves,_ she thought with a smile as she opened the bedroom door and made to step outside.

Her smile vanished in an instant, her hands rising up to cradle her belly protectively as horror rose in her throat.

There on the other side of the door, with a gun in his hand and an unreadable expression on his face, stood Lucas North.


	52. Chapter 52

Harry drove them to the church in silence, his thoughts on Ruth all the while. He had placed agents in the house and on the street out front, and now he knew there was no more he could do for her until he'd seen this farce through to its conclusion. That galled him, the knowledge that his position required him to stay and work, when his heart was screaming at him to turn the car around and return to her side with all due haste. In his mind he believed that no agent, regardless of how well-trained they might be, could possibly protect her better than he could, but he had a job to do, and his presence was required elsewhere.

This was what Jane had hated about his job, thirty years and a lifetime ago. She'd hated the power the service held over him, hated the fact that when she needed him most he'd leave in an instant, because his country needed him more. When he was young and life seemed to open before him in an endless array of possibility, it hadn't seemed like such a sacrifice, that abandoning of his family in favor of doing his duty. Now, though, it seemed to him much too high a price to pay. He'd meant what he said, about considering retirement; he wasn't a young man, anymore, and he had no idea how much time he had left to spend with his children. He didn't want to waste a single moment of it.

But before he could resign, he had to finish this operation. He had to know where Lucas had gone and whether the man really had turned rogue, he had to hunt down the Chinese, and he had to ensure that the secret of Albany remained under lock and key. To reveal the truth, even to his own agents, was nothing short of treason, and he could not risk the Chinese getting their hands on the real thing.

To that end he had long ago buried his insurance policy in a little-used church, hiding it beneath a grate behind the ornate altar. It was a holdover from his Cold War days, this using a church as a hiding place; during that time he had often met assets in cool, dimly lit sanctuaries, their voices hushed in the preternatural quiet beneath the high-arching ceilings. What they were going to fetch now was not the real Albany, but a convincing facsimile, containing none of the original research, and no indication of the subsequent failures. A little laptop in a heavy metal case, accessed by the same codes as the real Albany file, but utterly, completely useless. As added protection, the laptop was also hard-wired to explode within fifteen minutes of the codes being entered, though Harry had no idea if the explosives would still work, after all this time in the dark and damp beneath the floor of the church.

As he drove Harry glanced briefly at the two agents sitting in the car with him. Beth and Dimitri were both so _young_ , but they were learning quickly, and he was glad to have them with him as he went. They would do whatever he asked of them, he knew, and they would do it well. He was glad, too, that Malcolm was back on the Grid, following his every move via the tracker currently fastened to his belt buckle. Tariq was a maverick technical officer, really he was, but he couldn't hold a candle to Malcolm for sheer intuition; no one could. Harry was confident that between the pair of them, they could ferret out any piece of information he desired. Yes, his team was good, despite their relative inexperience, and Malcolm was there to help them when they stumbled.

Thoughts of his team inevitably led him back to Lucas, and the mystery surrounding his refusal to call in. If Lucas was still running an op he was doing a piss-poor job of it; how could he help them catch their would-be thieves, if he didn't share his information? Yes, he'd handed over Vaughn Edwards, but that hadn't exactly been his decision; Beth had just caught him in the right moment, and it could be that Lucas had only been trying to cover his tracks by turning the man over to her. Then again, Lucas had been handed so many opportunities to turn traitor over the years, so many moments when he could have elected to save his own skin, and he had chosen to serve his country every time. Why betray Harry now?

 _There's a woman, there's always a bloody woman,_ Harry reminded himself darkly. It was the simplest - and most effective - technique in the book; find the one thing a man cherishes above all others, and hold a knife to its throat until he capitulates to your demands. Harry had been on the receiving end of that particular maneuver twice now, and he had to admit it was brutally effective. The first time, he had confessed to a murder he'd never committed, in the hopes of saving Ruth, and it was only her own selflessness that had prevented his valiant attempt to fall on his sword for her. The second time; _Christ,_ he still had nightmares about the second time. He had known, when Ruth was brought into that warehouse, how the game would play out. Mani would make him watch as those men murdered her husband, as they killed the boy, and then Mani had planned to turn his attentions to Ruth directly. Mani might well have succeeded, if he'd ever made it that far; Harry honestly didn't know what he would have done if it had come down to a choice between saving Ruth and saving the uranium. It was unbearable enough, watching her scream, watching her heart breaking right in front of him; seeing a gun held to her head might have pushed him over the edge. As it was he was thankful that he'd never had to make that choice. They had been rescued, if only barely; if Lucas had come through that door thirty seconds later Ruth would have been dead and bleeding on the floor at his feet, and he would likely have gone stark raving made with grief.

So yes, he understood how a man might throw it all away for love. Was that what was happening here? He had no way of knowing, not yet; he had to wait for a chance to speak to Lucas, to hear the truth from the man himself.

"We're here," he said softly, pulling the car to a stop outside the church.

* * *

"Lucas," Ruth breathed, her heart pounding in her chest. "No, please, Lucas-"

"Please don't scream," he told her. She'd always thought Lucas had the most terrifying voice; it was low and gravelly and soft and utterly, completely without emotion. "There's no one to hear you, even if you do."

 _Oh God, no,_ Ruth was horrified, thinking of the two young agents she'd cooked dinner for only a few hours earlier. _Surely he hasn't-_

"They're not dead, just incapacitated," Lucas explained as if reading her thoughts. That was something, at least, but Ruth was too frightened to be relieved, just now.

"You need to come with me, Ruth," Lucas said, reaching out and catching her by the elbow. She flinched out of his grasp reflexively, feeling repulsed by the touch of his hand. _How dare you,_ she thought in a fury, but she kept a tight rein on her tongue. It wouldn't do to goad him, not until she knew what he was planning.

Lucas sighed. "I don't want to hurt you, Ruth. You could try to run, but you and I both know, given the circumstances, that won't end well for you."

No, she couldn't imagine that it would. Her belly was huge and her muscles ached and it took every ounce of energy she had to keep her on her feet; there was no way she'd be able to avoid him, if she tried to escape, and she'd likely only end up injuring herself or the peanut in the process.

"Lucas-"

"We have to go, now," he told her, and when he caught her arm this time, his grip was too firm for her to shake him off.

"Could I at least change my clothes?" she asked in a tired voice. If this was to be her last day on earth, she would appreciate it if he would at least allow her the dignity of dying while fully dressed. At the moment she wore only a pair of shorts and one of Harry's old t-shirts, beneath his heavy blue dressing gown. Ruth hated that Lucas was seeing her like this; her current attire spoke so eloquently of her connection to Harry, and she had always wanted their relationship to be a private thing, wanted the peace and happiness they shared to be untainted by their lives outside the safety of his home. But Lucas could see it now; she might as well have been wearing a sign that said "Property of Harry Pearce", and she knew seeing her like this would only reassure Lucas that he had made the right call, in assuming that she was the best way to get to Harry.

"No time for that, I'm afraid," Lucas said in a tone devoid of warmth. "Let's go."

And with that he dragged from her the room and down the stairs. As they crossed the kitchen she caught sight of her guards, both of them lying prone in a pile on the floor. Scarlet came limping towards her, clearly confused, and the sight of that dear, sweet old dog was nearly enough to bring tears to Ruth's eyes. _Poor thing,_ she thought sadly, _she has no idea what's happening._ Lucas didn't stop to bother with the dog, he just bundled Ruth out the back door and into the garden.

There was a long, tall wooden fence surrounding Harry's little garden, but Lucas had apparently been quite busy this evening, given that he'd managed to tear out quite a few boards in the back corner and make a hole big enough for even Ruth to squeeze through. Once they passed through the fence, they crossed another garden, and Lucas led her to a dark SUV parked on a quiet lane. He saw her safely into the passenger's seat, and then tucked himself behind the wheel.

"Where are we going, Lucas?" she asked him. She needed to know; needed to know what he was planning, what kind of horror waited in store for her.

"You'll see," he answered shortly.

* * *

"That's that, then," Harry said as he deposited the case in the back of the car.

"What now?" Beth asked him, tucking her hands in her pockets.

It was late and Harry had to squint to see her through the darkness. He found himself wondering about this girl who had so suddenly burst into their lives; she and Ruth were fast friends, as unlikely as that seemed, and he couldn't help but wonder what role she had played in the general improvement of Ruth's disposition, over the last few months. Perhaps this was what Ruth had been missing, for all that time, a friend she could unburden herself to, another woman who understood what she was going through. He and Ruth had chosen Dimitri, to join their team, but Beth had been a surprise. In the end, he thought, it had all worked out rather well.

"We wait. They told me they're going to make contact, so I plan to sit right here until I hear from the Chinese or Malcolm, whichever call comes in first."

"Should we check in with Ruth, make sure she's all right?" Beth asked him anxiously.

 _God yes,_ he thought; he wanted nothing in that moment than to hear Ruth's reassuring voice in his ear.

"No," he said aloud. "She needs her rest, and besides, if anything had happened, we'd have heard about it. Ruth is safe, Beth, no need to worry."

The look on her face told him plainly that she _was_ going to worry, regardless of whether it was needed or not. He knew just how she felt. Ruth was uniquely vulnerable, just now, and all sorts of nasty possibilities kept floating across his mind.

 _Stay focused_ , he chided himself. _You won't do her any good if you can't keep a level head._

In the still of the night the ringing of his mobile was shockingly loud; he fished it out of his pocket, and was relieved when he saw the call was coming in from the Grid.

"Yes?" he barked.

"Harry, it's Malcolm." There was something off about Malcolm's tone, something that chilled Harry to his very core.

"What is it?" he asked, fighting back a rising tide of dread.

"Harry, we've just had contact from the surveillance team watching your house. There's no easy way to say this…Ruth's gone."

It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep him from hurtling the mobile to the ground and roaring out his rage and his fear.

* * *

Lucas drove her to a rather derelict looking house on a quiet street. He led her up the path, its paving stones cracked and broken, and through the boarded-up front door.

"What is this place?" she asked once they were inside. It was dusty, but otherwise in rather decent shape; at least, there were no dead animals or squatters lying about, and she supposed she should be thankful for small mercies.

"A bolt-hole," Lucas said with a shrug as he locked the door behind him. "A place completely unconnected to me, where no one will ever come to look for you. Please, take a seat, you look exhausted."

Ruth _was_ exhausted, so she did as he asked, gingerly perching on the edge of a worn-down couch.

"Why am I here, Lucas?" she asked him quietly, watching as he stalked cat-like through the sitting room.

"The Chinese want Albany. They got tired of dealing with Vaughn, and they decided to go straight to the source. Harry is one of only a very few people who know where Albany is, and he's got one big, easily identifiable weakness. I was ordered to take you, so…here we are."

"Why, Lucas? What hold do these people have over you?"

Lucas dropped into an armchair by the door, scrubbing his hands over his face. He looked exhausted, too, looked tired and drained and utterly hopeless.

"I was young, when Six sent me to Dakar. It was my first undercover assignment, and I wanted so badly to do well. I knew Vaughn was involved, so I got close to him, let him believe we were friends. He's the one who planted the bomb in the embassy. I knew that, Ruth, and I let him go."

Lucas's eyes were shining at her across the dimly lit room; he looked earnest, and sad, and it was the most emotion she'd seen from him in the nearly two years she'd known him.

"I knew it wasn't his plan, he wasn't the one behind it all, and I'm not sure even he knew who his employers were. I hadn't yet learned how to keep my legend from overtaking me completely, and I believed we were friends. I let him go. He turned up a few months ago, threatening to tell Harry about what I'd done, threatening Maya. She has nothing to do with this, Ruth," he added softly. "She's innocent, in all this."

"Maybe she is," Ruth agreed, "but you certainly aren't, Lucas."

"I did go to Harry. I told him the truth, that Vaughn was threatening her, that he was trying to use me to do his dirty work. I didn't mention him by name, he's too well-connected, but I told Harry as much as I dared. He told me to go along with it, and to keep him informed, so I did."

"Where did it go wrong?" she prodded him gently when his silence dragged on too long.

"They took Maya yesterday. I have no idea where she is, and unless I help them, they're going to kill her."

 _Ah, so that's how it is, then_ , Ruth thought sadly. Lucas had to choose, between protecting Ruth and protecting Maya, and he'd chosen to save his lover. _Wouldn't we all, in the end?_ It was just so bloody unfair, that her little peanut was caught in the midst of all this, completely without blame and completely without agency.

"So that's that, then?" she asked softly. "You want to save Maya, Harry wants to save me, and the Chinese are hoping that you'll both give into their demands."

"Something like that."

She nodded. "Right, then."

Lucas was looking at her strangely, and for a moment she was suddenly terrified that he'd decided to go ahead and kill her now, and save himself the trouble. Her hands once again dropped to her stomach, feeling the reassuring weight of the peanut against her palms. _I'll protect you, little one,_ she promised silently.

"Do you trust me, Ruth?" Lucas asked her softly, and she couldn't help but laugh aloud at the very thought.

"Look around you, Lucas! You've been lying to me, for months, you've kidnapped me, you're threatening to kill me-"

He shook his head. "I never said I was going to kill you, Ruth. I do have a plan, a plan to save you, to save Maya, and to keep Albany away from the Chinese, but I need you to do one thing for me. I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

Could she do that? Could she trust this man, this man who had been cold and hard from the moment she'd first met him, this man who had lied and obfuscated and stolen her away from her home, showing no remorse for what he'd done and no concern for her child?

 _He didn't kill the agents, though,_ she reasoned as she watched him. _He could have, but he didn't. And he's brought me here, to a house with no Chinese operatives in sight._ He had been through so much, she knew, had been willing to risk his life to act as a double-agent, pretending to work for the Russians and delivering information to Harry all the while. He'd spent eight bloody years in a prison cell for his country. He had been her Section Chief, and she had followed his orders. Could she do that, one more time?

"What do you want me to do?"


	53. Chapter 53

Harry Pearce had never looked quite so terrifying as he did in the moments following his phone call from Malcolm. As they stood huddled together around his car on the pavement, Beth saw on his face an expression of such fierce, violent rage that she was sharply reminded of all the old stories she had heard about this man. Whispers about the death of the former Home Secretary, about Harry's time in Northern Ireland, about what had become of the infamous Juliet Shaw had all made their way to Beth's ears but, blinded by his crisp suits and his bumbling affection for her flatmate, Beth had never really appreciated just how volatile, how ruthless he could be. He was not only a politically powerful man, stalking the corridors of Thames House and Whitehall with a permanent scowl, but a _physically_ powerful one, a dangerous one. This man had killed, not once, not twice, but God only knew how many times, and he looked fit to do it again.

"What's happened, Harry?" Beth asked, because someone had to.

"Someone's taken Ruth," he snarled.

Beth had to lean up against the boot of the car for support; _no, God, no, please not Ruth._ No wonder Harry had gone red-faced and furious. That he would find whoever had done this and tear them limb from limb seemed a foregone conclusion, and Beth did not spare a moment to pity him; Harry would have his vengeance. Ruth, though, Ruth was in an altogether different position. How terrified must she be? Had they hurt her? The Chinese had threatened to kill her, should Harry fail to deliver Albany by morning. Would they stay true to their word, and return her safe and sound, or would they kill her as soon as they got what they wanted, turn tail and run and leave nothing but devastation in their wake? What were the chances of finding her before the worst came to pass?

Over her years in the intelligence community Beth had witnessed some horrific things. She'd seen people murdered, people tortured, people tied up and forced to watch while their loved ones were injured, while their homes burned around them. With time she'd managed to draw a veil over those moments of merciless inhumanity, had somehow been able to box up her emotions, to pretend none of it was real. Now, though, there was no escaping it. Ruth was her friend, a woman with a kind heart and so much to live for, and she was in unspeakable danger.

"What are we going to do?" Dimitri asked.

Harry rounded him, looking for all the word as if he was about to strike the young man for having the insolence to ask such a question, but Dimitri was spared the brunt of Harry's wrath as his mobile began to ring again.

"Pearce," Harry spat into the receiver. His face went even redder, if such a thing were possible, a vein throbbing in his neck as he switched the call over to speaker and held the mobile out so Beth and Dimitri could hear.

"I have Ruth, Harry," Lucas said on the other end of the line. "She's safe."

"I've had enough of your bullshit, Lucas," Harry said in a deadly quite voice. There came a shuffling sound through the speakers, and the next voice Beth heard was Ruth's.

"Harry, it's all right. I'm fine. You need to listen to Lucas, this isn't what it looks like."

Harry's shoulders sagged with relief at the sound of her voice; wherever she was, Ruth sounded well, and whole, and utterly in control of herself.

"Ruth," he sighed her name, and Beth sensed there was a world of emotion hidden behind that one simple word.

"It's going to be all right, Harry. Just please, listen to Lucas."

"If he so much as touches you-"

"Harry," Ruth sounded fairly exasperated now, but Beth could tell that Harry wasn't interested in talking to Lucas again. They only had a few hours left until dawn, and now wasn't the time for Harry to go all mushy over her; Beth fought the urge to reach out and pinch him, try to bring him back to his senses.

"I'll listen, Ruth. I'll bring you home."

For a moment there was silence between them, and Beth could almost hear the pair of them struggling to find the words. _Oh just say it,_ she thought in mild frustration, _it's not that bloody difficult. Three little words, just say it._

"Harry?" Lucas was back, and the spell was broken.

"What's going on?" Harry asked him sharply.

"The Chinese wanted Ruth, so I volunteered to take her. I ditched my car and my mobile, and I'm certain no one followed us here. She's safe for now, Harry, they can't get to her."

 _Is that true?_ Beth wondered. It would be a miracle, if after all this Lucas was still working for them, and she desperately wanted to believe him. She just wasn't sure she could, any more, not after everything else he'd lied about.

"I'm assuming you have some sort of plan?"

"I'll keep Ruth here, out of sight. This whole plot has been orchestrated by a team of CSS agents. If word gets out about what they're planning, the Chinese government will burn them, and so they want to stay as far away from you and anyone else who could incriminate them as possible. Give me Albany, Harry. They have the access codes, they'll recognize a fake. It has to be the real thing. If I can just get inside, I can neutralize them, I can get Maya back, and you can pick up Ruth."

 _Could it really be that simple?_ Harry was certain his fake file was convincing enough; would it be? Could he just give Lucas the fake file, swing by the safe house and grab Ruth, and then get back to Thames House in time for breakfast? Somehow, Beth didn't quite think so. This whole thing was so mad, racing around London, breaking into churches, Ruth's almost-kidnapping; none of it made any sense, and she had no idea what she'd do, if she were in Harry's shoes. Harry wanted the people behind this, she knew, wanted to prove who had been trying to infiltrate MI-5, and for that he'd need to see the faces of the CSS team behind it.

"Are they watching me, Lucas?" Harry asked.

"Almost certainly," Lucas answered. "I told them I was ditching the mobile to keep you lot from tracking me, but they know I'm contacting you. Meet me in Battersea Park in thirty minutes, it will look like we're doing the handover then. Don't put a tracker on the file, though, they're going to scan it as soon as I bring it to them and if they see it they'll run before we have a chance to stop them."

 _And kill Lucas and Maya in the process,_ Beth thought glumly.

"Fine," Harry said tersely, and with that they ended the call.

Harry tucked his mobile in his pocket, and ran his hands over his face. "All right, here's how we're going to play this. I'm taking the file to Lucas-"

Beth opened her mouth to protest but Harry cut across her sharply.

"Don't interrupt me! We need the Chinese to believe that I'm desperate enough to go through with this, so I'm going to meet Lucas alone. You two take a cab back to the Grid, quick as you can. I'm going to put a tracker on Lucas, so I need you to work with Malcolm to keep an eye on him once it's active."

"Are you going to warn him about the bomb?" Beth asked softly. She didn't want to draw his ire unnecessarily, but she had to know. Was Harry content with tracking these people down and bringing them in, or would he send an explosive into their midst, and blow them all to hell for daring to threaten Ruth?

"I haven't decided yet," he told her.

* * *

"I have a really bad feeling about this, Lucas," Ruth told him, pacing the floor of the dingy sitting room uneasily. He'd unburdened himself to her, spoken to her softly about Maya, his greatest love, the one who got away, only recently returned to him. He had a plan, a mad, stupid, incredibly risky plan, and Ruth had chosen to see this through, despite her reservations.

"So do I, but what choice do we have? Harry's not stupid, he'll find a way to follow me once I've got the file. This whole thing will be done in an hour or two, and then you can go home and go back to bed and forget it ever happened."

Somehow, Ruth didn't think that was very likely. For the third time in the almost thirty-three weeks she'd been pregnant, Ruth found herself in danger, and for the third time she couldn't help but wonder when her luck was going to run out. No matter what Lucas said, about this place being completely under the radar, she couldn't bring herself to believe that she'd be safe here alone. Even Lucas's company would be preferable to sitting here in the dark with no phone and no idea what was happening.

"I've got to go, Ruth," he said finally, sliding to his feet and heading for the door. "There's food in the kitchen, and clean sheets on the bed."

As if she was going to just curl up and have a nap! Ruth could think of nothing she wanted less than to sleep in this horrible house.

"Please don't leave me here alone, Lucas," she begged him, feeling the hot prick of tears in the corners of her eyes.

He stood by the doorway, watching her in that unfathomable way he had, but finally he relented.

"Fine," he said. He crossed the room, and handed her the pay-as-you-go phone he'd used to ring Harry. "The Chinese don't have this number, so it's safe, for now. Harry has the number, I'll tell him to ring you the second this is done. Don't use it unless there's an emergency, Ruth."

She nodded, clutching the mobile to her chest like a lifeline. "Thank you," she said softly.

"I'll see you soon," Lucas told her, and with that, he left her to her own devices.

 _Well, it's just you and me now, little one,_ she thought grimly.

* * *

When Lucas North came stalking towards him along the path, Harry had a sudden, animal urge to reach out and throttle the man. On the one hand, he had chosen to trust Lucas, because every time he had doubted Lucas North in the past he had been proved wrong, unequivocally, and he had decided that, just this once, he was going to start from a position of faith in the man's innocence. On the other hand, knowing that Ruth and his child were out there, somewhere, in terrible danger, and that Lucas had played a part in it made Harry want to kill him with his bare hands. Nothing had ever incited Harry's primal instincts quite like a well-placed threat to the ones he loved, and he had never, ever loved anyone the way he loved Ruth Evershed. He had told her he would let the whole world burn to save her, and now he knew, in his very soul, just how true those words had been.

"Harry."

"Lucas."

They faced off for a moment, each of them deceptively calm, evaluating the other. Harry broke first; he extended the case to Lucas, and Lucas took it quickly, shuffling nervously from one foot to the other.

"I rang them from the car, told them we were meeting here. I've picked up a tail, and they told me they've been following you all day. You're compromised."

Harry knew what was coming next, and he could not bear to hear it.

"Don't you dare-"

"I can't tell you where Ruth is, Harry. I know what she means to you. You won't keep away, and they'll follow you and your people right to her. She needs to stay where she is, for now, until this is done and we can guarantee her safety. Maya's life is already at risk, don't do the same to Ruth."

Somewhere, tucked in a very small, very dark corner of his heart, Harry knew that Lucas was right. No power on earth could keep him from Ruth now, if he only knew where she was, and nothing would put her in danger quite so much as his sending people in after her.

 _You still have a job to do._

Harry reached out, and clasped Lucas's arm, drawing him in close.

"If anything happens to her, I'll kill you myself," he hissed. Lucas was so distracted by the venom in Harry's tone, he never noticed the little tracker dropping into his jacket-pocket.

"If anything happens to her, Harry, I'll let you," Lucas answered.

They separated, eyeing each other warily. This was make or break time; if Lucas was playing him, and Harry warned him about the bomb, the Chinese would cut and run, and there would be no going back. If Lucas wasn't lying, and Harry held back that information, he could very well have signed the death warrant of one of his finest officers.

"How can I reach you?" Harry asked.

"Call the same mobile I used to contact you. Give me at least an hour though, Harry. Give me a chance to make this work."

Harry nodded, and with that they parted ways, and not a word spoken about the bomb.

 _God forgive me,_ Harry thought.

* * *

 _No, no, this isn't happening, no, not now, not yet._

It had been over an hour since Lucas left her all alone, and in that time, something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

All day long, Ruth had felt the occasional, irritating clench of Braxton-Hicks contractions, leaving her ill-tempered and out of sorts. By the time she'd gone to bed at Harry's, though, the familiar sensation had changed. The pain had shifted, starting at her lower back and wrapping around. The contractions were lasting longer. And, over the last hour or so, they'd been coming more frequently. As the most recent contraction faded, a terrible prospect dawned on her. This pain was different, and she knew it.

The baby was coming, and she was coming _now._

 _Shit._


	54. Chapter 54

Beth was sitting on the Grid with her head in her hands when the call came in. Malcolm and Tariq were busy tracking Lucas's progress; he'd made his way to a warehouse near the water, and CO-19 had been very quietly called. Unlike Lucas, Harry _had_ seen fit to warn CO-19 about the bomb, and so at the moment they were holding back, awaiting orders. Beth still wasn't sure about that particular decision; why hadn't Harry told Lucas about the bloody bomb? Did he still think that Lucas was a traitor? _Was_ Lucas a traitor? However it worked out in the end, Beth supposed she ought to be thankful that it was Harry who had to make these decisions, and not Beth herself. She had no idea what she'd do, if she were in his shoes.

With the techies busy behind their computer screens and Harry locked away in his office, not speaking to anyone, there was very little for Beth to do, just now. Nothing to do but sit, and wait, and fret. Harry had a number for Lucas, but he had resolved not to call it, not until he absolutely had to, which left them all in the dark. So when her mobile started ringing, she almost breathed a sigh of relief. _Finally,_ she thought as she answered.

"Beth?" Ruth's voice was breathless and terrified on the other end of the line, and all of Beth's momentary good humor vanished in an instant.

"Ruth? What's wrong?"

"Beth, it's the baby-" _oh, God no, please no, not now-_ "I think I've gone into labor. I need an ambulance, now, but I don't know where I am."

 _Oh, bloody hell._

"Hang on, I'm going for help," Beth said as she leapt out of her chair and sprinted across the room. From his office Harry had seen her abrupt change of demeanor, and he came striding across the Grid with a scowl on his face.

"Malcolm, I need you to trace this call," she all but shouted as she went hurtling into the forgery suite, throwing the phone at the startled techie.

Malcolm caught it neatly in midair, and set to with a flurry of keystrokes, and not a single question.

"What's this?" Harry asked from the doorway.

"It's Ruth," Beth told him. For a moment she worried about what she ought to tell him; they were still in the middle of an op, and nothing was going to send Harry off into a panic quite like knowing that the baby was coming _now_ , so many weeks early. _Who needs him more?_ Beth wondered. _Us, or Ruth?_

"Her labor's started. We're tracing her mobile so we can get an ambulance to her."

Harry began to swear sulfurously under his breath, his face turning an alarming shade of red.

"I need to speak to her," he said sharply.

Malcolm tossed him the phone without looking away from his monitor. "Keep her on the line for another minute, and then we'll be able to lock her down and get her some help," he said brusquely.

Beth watched the scene unfold, feeling utterly helpless. There was nothing she could do to help with the trace, nothing she could do to alleviate Ruth's pain, and nothing she could say that would make Harry feel better, just now.

"Ruth, are you all right?" Harry asked softly, turning away from them as if seeking a moment's privacy for himself, despite the chaos that surrounded him.

Beth couldn't make out the words of Ruth's response, but the fact that she could hear her flatmate's voice from clear across the room told her that her friend was shouting. And who could blame her, given the circumstances?

"We've got her!" Malcolm called out after a few more seconds; beside him Tariq had already rung for an ambulance, and was spouting off the address.

"Ruth, the ambulance is on its way," Harry said in a gentle voice. "They'll get to you before I can, but I'll meet you at the hospital. It's going to be all right."

This inspired a fresh wave of shouting from Ruth.

"I'll stay on with you until the ambulance gets there," Harry said as he walked briskly from the room.

Beth leaned back against the wall, running her hands over her face in exhaustion. It was late, she was dead tired, Lucas was God only knew where, and Ruth was about to have a bloody baby. _How much worse could this day get?_

And then she remembered just how much worse; Lucas had told Harry that he'd been followed all day, and Harry had confirmed that he picked up a tail as he drove back to the Grid from the meeting in Battersea. How the bloody hell were they going to get him to the hospital without bringing a team of trained CSS assassins along for the ride?

* * *

"Harry, it's too soon, this can't be happening now," Ruth whispered, and Harry had to fight hard to tamp down the flutterings of fear in his chest. She was still nearly five weeks away from term, and almost ten weeks away from her due date; he didn't know much about the ins and outs of having a baby, but he _did_ know that if the peanut was making an appearance this early, she had to be in trouble. What could he possibly say to Ruth, what comfort could he offer her when she was scared and alone and in pain, and he was utterly powerless to help her? _I should be with her, I never should have sent her home, I should have kept her close._ The number of missteps he'd made in the last twenty-four hours seemed to be beyond counting.

"It _will_ be all right, Ruth. The doctors will sort it out. You have to have faith, Ruth."

"Pactum Serva," she said in a voice choked with unshed tears. Harry started a bit at those words; he hadn't thought about Doctor Kirby in months, but apparently the man had left quite a mark on Ruth.

"That's right," he said.

As he spoke to her Harry was shuffling around through the spare clothes he kept on the Grid; he needed to get out of the building, and quickly, but he needed to do it without being spotted, and somehow he thought his Saville Row suit wouldn't quite do the job. Eventually he came up with a pair of blue jeans and a heavy grey hooded jumper. He hoped it would be enough.

* * *

Everything happened very quickly, once the ambulance arrived at Ruth's location. Beth had bundled Harry out the back entrance of Thames House and into a pool car, marveling at how different he looked in blue jeans and a jumper, the hood pulled low over his face. She prayed it would be enough to get him through; whatever else happened tonight, Harry needed to be with Ruth.

To that end he had left behind instructions for Beth. She was to wait twenty more minutes, and then ring the number Lucas had given Harry. While she waited for the time to pass, she stared down at the little slip of paper on which he'd scribbled the numbers, something niggling in the back of her mind.

 _It isn't! Is it?_

Beth fished her mobile from her pocket, and looked up the number Ruth had called from.

 _Damn it all to hell._

Lucas had left his phone with Ruth, and there was no way for them to contact him now. His tracker had been steady at the warehouse for nearly half an hour, now; what was Beth supposed to do now? She and Dimitri had the Grid, but she wasn't feeling particularly powerful, at the moment. She felt small, and weak, and very, very tired.

"Everything all right?" Malcolm asked kindly as he walked up beside her, offering her a cup of tea.

She shook her head as she gratefully accepted his offering. "Lucas lied, about the number. We have no way of contacting him. What do I now, Malcolm?"

"Well," he said with a sigh, "you have two options. You can order CO-19 to go in, and they might be able to subdue our Chinese friends. Of course there will almost definitely be a firefight, if that happens, and there's the bomb to worry about. Or you could do nothing, and we might lose them entirely."

 _That is supremely unhelpful._

"What would Harry do?" She studied his face as they spoke; this man had known Harry Pearce for decades, longer even than Ruth. Surely he had some idea of how Harry operated.

"Harry would wait," Malcolm said. "Sometimes that's the only choice we have."

Before Beth could say another word Tariq came running from the forgery suite, his face pale and his hands shaking.

"The bomb's gone off. CO-19 and bomb disposal are there, trying to figure out what's happened. No sign of Lucas."

 _I suppose I didn't have to wait that long, after all,_ Beth thought grimly.

* * *

When they wheeled her in from the ambulance bay, Ruth was screaming.

The sound of it tore at Harry's heartstrings; he had hoped to never hear such a sound pass her lips again, had hoped to keep her safe and well, wrapped in the protection of his love for her, for all the rest of his days.

"Harry!" She cried when she caught sight of him, and he bulled his way past the various nurses and doctors to jog alongside her still-moving gurney, reaching out to take her hand in his own. Ruth clutched him fiercely, so hard it almost hurt, but he would gladly have let her break every bone in his body, if it could in some way lessen her pain.

"I'm here, Ruth, I'm here," he told her, wishing the words didn't sound quite so inane. The look she shot him was grateful, though, and once they had her secured inside a delivery room, the doctors let him stay by her side.

" _Christ,_ it hurts," Ruth moaned, her head thrashing on the pillow, her hand squeezing his ever tighter.

He was no good in these sorts of situations, he knew. Let him be the one who was in pain, and he was fine, could put on a brave face and soldier through almost anything, but hurt the one he loved, and he was reduced to nothing but trite platitudes. It looked like she was still in her pajamas, her clothes wrinkled and her whole body shaking with the force of another contraction, and he couldn't help but think how lovely she was. His lovely, brave, fiercely strong Ruth; they'd been through so much together, and he knew he had to keep the faith, had to believe that they could get through this, as well.

Harry reached out and smoothed her sweaty hair back from her brow, dropping a gentle kiss against her forehead. "I know it does. You're safe now, Ruth, you're safe, it's going to be all right."

If the doctor and the nurses thought it odd, his reassuring her that she was safe, they made no mention of it. In fact, they made no mention of anything at all; they were trying to monitor the baby's heartbeat, and every last one of them wore a worried expression on their faces.

"What is it, what's happened?" Ruth asked sharply as the sound of the fetal heart-rate monitor, frantic and strangely staccato, filled the room. _It's never sounded like that before,_ Harry thought, panic rising in his chest.

"Ruth," the doctor said in a clipped, professional tone of voice, "your baby's in distress. I'm sorry, but we're going to have to do a C-Section, and we're going to have to do it now."

The nurses immediately started pushing Harry away from her, preparations well underway; inside he felt only turmoil, wanting to give them room to work, but not wanting to take so much as a single step away from her bedside.

"Harry? Harry!" Ruth had lost sight of him, for the nurses leaning over her.

"I'm here, I'm here," he answered, trying to catch her eye over their shoulders, his heart thundering in his chest.

"Harry, I want to call her Sophia," Ruth said between panting breaths.

He very nearly started to cry; here they were, surrounded by nurses and one very terse doctor, by tubes and machines and frenetic, electronic beeping, and Ruth wanted to call their daughter _Sophia_.

"Ruth-"

"Sophia Grace. Promise me, Harry, promise me if something happens to me, that's what you'll call her."

"Nothing's going to happen to-"

"I'm sorry, sir, you'll have to leave," the doctor cut in, sliding smoothly between them. Harry could have killed him, in that moment.

"Harry-"

"I have to go, Ruth," Harry told her as he was almost physically dragged from the room. "I'll be here, when you wake up. I love you."

Time seemed to grind to a halt, just then; he couldn't believe he'd done that. Blame it on his damned horrible sense of timing again, he supposed, but Harry simply couldn't bear the thought of losing her, before he had a chance to tell her.

"I love you, too," she answered, her voice thick and already groggy from the anesthesia. "I should have told you years ago…"

Those were the last words he heard, before he found himself thrust unceremoniously out into the hall, the door to the delivery room slamming in his face with a horrible clang of finality.


	55. Chapter 55

There was something about hospital waiting rooms, he thought as he sat with his hands clenched in fists on his knees; the very laws of time seemed to cease to exist, in these places. Every second seemed to last for an eternity, and yet there were moments when he would glance at his watch, and find himself shocked to discover that ten whole minutes had passed, in the blinking of an eye. It must be something about the nature of anticipation, he supposed, something about that feeling of being balanced on the edge of a knife, tragedy on one side and joy on the other, and having no sense of which way he would fall until the doctor came out, and gave him a push.

Cursed with both an overabundance of time and a crippling lack of it, Harry's thoughts tumbled chaotically through his mind, running over everything that had happened in the months since he'd first learned of Ruth's pregnancy. There was that terrible moment, when he'd been convinced he was about to lose her forever, only to hear the words _I'm pregnant_ pouring out of her, shattering his heart as all the fear and all the love and all the horror he felt somehow doubled in an instant, as he stopped worrying about _her_ and started worrying about _them._ There were those lovely dinners, when they danced ever nearer to one another. There was the night she fell into his bed for the second time, and the night she left him there, cold and alone. There were doctor's visits, and quiet conversations, whispers in the dark of the night as they shared their burdens with one another. There was a nursery, full of furniture and blankets and clothes and nappies they had bought together, boxes of her books and bags of her clothes and a bed that felt empty, without her in it.

There was a dream, a hope for the future, a hope with a name, now. _Sophia Grace._ Over the last few months, he'd devoted rather a lot of time to thinking about her, their little peanut. He thought about what she might look like, and how she might feel, cradled in his arms. He imagined sleepless nights, and first days of school, imagined ballet recitals and football matches, imagined telling bedtime stories and healing hurts both real and imagined with a well-placed kiss. He fretted about whether he'd live long enough to see her off to university, whether he'd see her wed, whether he'd be there, when she needed him. He worried about Ruth, and how she'd cope, if he left them all too soon. He thought about Catherine, and Graham, and every mistake he'd ever made.

Most of all, though, he'd thought about Ruth. Over the last few months, every moment he wasn't working, she was on his mind, in one form or another. She'd given him plenty to ponder, his Ruth. In the beginning, he'd wondered how she was feeling about all this, about having a child thrust upon her, so unexpectedly, so late in their lives, at a time when they were barely even speaking to each other. And coupled with that, he'd wondered how she felt, knowing she was pregnant again after the last time had gone so horribly, horribly wrong. They'd spoken about it now, and he didn't have to wonder, and for that he was incredibly grateful. In the last few months he'd drawn closer to her than he'd ever been before; she'd allowed him into her heart at last, and he'd found it to be much like his own, battered and bruised and somehow beating on, despite all that.

She'd been excited about the arrival of their baby, had Ruth. She'd done all her research, planned the whole thing out the way only she could, and now all her plans were turned to ruin. Harry didn't know why this was happening now, might not ever know, and he didn't know how they would ever recover, if…

It didn't bear thinking about, did it? They both loved their little peanut – _Sophia,_ he heard Ruth's voice whisper the name in his ear – so fiercely, so deeply, and they'd never even seen her face. She had bound them together, had saved them from themselves, had given them the push they needed to finally be honest with each other. To finally love each other, and damn the rest.

 _Please be all right,_ he prayed. _Please._

In the midst of this reverie, their friends came to him to offer him comfort in his hour of need.

Malcolm and Beth dragged themselves into the waiting room, each of them looking a bit nervous and entirely exhausted. He knew how they felt; it had been much too long since any of them had had a decent night's sleep. Somehow Harry found the strength to stand, and reached out to shake Malcolm's hand.

"Thank you for coming," Harry said, because it seemed like the thing to say, in a moment such as this. His voice sounded shockingly hoarse and unsteady to his own ears.

"What's the word?" Malcolm asked as they all took their seats on the hard plastic chairs.

 _Such an uninviting place,_ Harry thought as he glanced around. _Makes you feel as if they don't want you to hang about. Which they probably don't, come to think of it._

"They've had to do an emergency C-section. I don't know why," he carried on quickly, when he saw Beth open her mouth to ask the question. _Always with the questions, this one._

"They said the baby was in distress and then they threw me out. I've been waiting-" he glanced at his watch-"nearly thirty minutes, and they haven't told me anything."

Beth's brow furrowed in confusion. "It shouldn't take that long," she said in a low voice. "Ruth was telling me about it, the other night. If it's an emergency, they do it as quickly as possible. They should have finished by now."

 _I could have done without knowing that, Miss Bailey._

"It'll be all right, Harry," Malcolm said, shooting Beth an exasperated look. "Surely no news is good news, in a situation such as this?"

Harry found he heartily disagreed; the only good news he could imagine was that Ruth and Sophia were both fine and well, and if that were the case, he knew he would have heard by now. It was taking so bloody long, and for him that seemed to spell only disaster.

They were quiet for a time, each of them lost in their own thoughts, but surprisingly, it was Malcolm who broke the silence. Surprising, because Malcolm had always been such a somber fellow, never one to chatter on incessantly, unless it was about protocol or some particularly interesting new gadget he'd put together. Malcolm was not typically much good in emotionally delicate situations, but he was Harry's oldest friend, and when he started to speak, Harry's heart felt that little bit lighter for it.

"I couldn't believe it, when I saw she was pregnant," he began, giving Harry a timid little smile. "I suppose you two finally got your act together."

Harry grunted. "Didn't have much choice, really. To be honest, Malcolm, things were not going well between us, before the baby. I'd buggered it up-" _Marry me, Ruth –"_ and she ran for the hills, the way she always did."

"She's been through so much, Harry," Malcolm said, as if Harry needed reminding. She'd lost her father, and her step-brother, lost her friends, lost her life, lost her husband, her step-son, her baby, lost her way. And in a way, Harry felt responsible for all of it. Well, maybe not her father, and certainly not Peter, but the rest of it. _A heart is a heavy burden,_ she'd told him once; he was suffocating under the weight of his own, at present.

"She'll be all right," Beth said in a small voice.

 _Oh, Beth,_ Harry thought sadly. She was so bloody _young_ , and still had so much to learn. She reminded him a bit of Zoe, and a bit of Tessa, before it all went wrong; she reminded him of so many bright young women who had come across his path, walked onto the Grid and looked to him for leadership, each of them burned and broken before their time.

"What's happening on the Grid?" he asked gruffly, trying to distract himself from his more immediate problems.

At this, Malcolm and Beth exchanged a long glance.

"Well," Malcolm began slowly, "Lucas took the fake file to the Chinese, as planned. It looks like they bought it; they certainly entered the codes, because just after you left, the bomb was activated. They had set up shop in an old warehouse, and the explosion leveled the whole building."

 _Good_ , Harry thought with a fierce wave of satisfaction. In the end, he'd kept the truth about the bomb away from Lucas, wanting to inflict as much devastation as possible on his enemy, wanting to destroy all those who would dare threaten his Ruth.

"And a few minutes after that, Lucas came walking onto the Grid, with Doctor Lahan in tow," Malcolm continued.

That was surprising; Harry had given up all hope of ever seeing Lucas North again. The man's loyalties were still in doubt, but the fact that he had come back to the Grid, come home, rather than turning tail and running for the hills, spoke volume about his character. He was grateful, too, to learn that the woman had lived; Lucas would never have forgiven him, if she had died. Harry knew a little something about how that felt, himself.

"Dimtri's put them in interrogation rooms, and he's going to leave them there overnight. They'll be fed and their wounds will be tended to, but he wanted more time to investigate what happened at the warehouse, and to determine if the Chinese threat has been neutralized."

"Lucas won't thank us for that," Harry said.

"He's just relieved the woman is alive," Beth told him.

 _As I would be,_ Harry thought.

Silence fell again as they waited, and time moved in fits and starts all around them. A phrase came to Harry, something his mother used to say; she would described this room as being one of those places where _the veil is thin_ , where the divide between this world and the next shrank to almost nothing, and everything that happened carried with it a strange, almost ethereal quality. Abandoned roadside churches and old graveyards and hospital waiting rooms, places where anything could happen, and time itself lost all sense of meaning. She was a very spiritual sort of woman, his mother, not particularly concerned with religion but deeply concerned with possibility. He missed her every day.

Harry's watch told him nearly an hour and a half had passed, when the doctor finally came to see him.

He was a young man, this doctor, young, and tall, with dark circles under his eyes and prematurely stooped shoulders. Harry had no goodwill for this man, who had been so short and tense with them before Harry had been ushered from the delivery room, and he felt only dread upon seeing him again. Ponderously Harry rose to his feet, and braced himself for the worst.

"I'm sorry, we weren't properly introduced before," the doctor said, extending his hand. His skin was papery and dry, and the scent of antiseptic clung to him like a miasma.

"Harry Pearce."

"John Noble," the doctor returned his handshake firmly. "Would you like to have a seat?"

"No, I would not. Tell me," Harry nearly barked at the man, his whole body trembling with fear. _Tell me Ruth's all right, tell me Sophia's well, please let me see them, please._

"Very well," Doctor Noble sighed. "We believe that Miss Evershed's premature labor was caused by polyhydramnios; it's a condition where amniotic fluid builds up, in the womb, and results in increased pressure. To make matters worse, the umbilical chord was wrapped around the baby's neck, which is what caused her to go into distress during the delivery."

Harry might not know very much about babies, but he knew enough to be drowned by fear, at those words. He sat down heavily in the nearest chair, dropping his head into his hands. Dimly he felt the reassuring touch of a hand on his shoulder; Malcolm, he knew, though he could not bring himself to look up. The doctor was still speaking, and Harry struggled to process his words, fighting back a rush of tears. He couldn't bear it, couldn't bear the thought of losing their little peanut, not now, not when they were so close-

"The operation was a success, though we have been monitoring the baby. There's some concern, with her having been born so early, that her lungs might not be fully developed."

Harry's head shot up at this news. "She's alive?"

The doctor nodded, smiling. "Born about-" he checked his watch "an hour and fifteen minutes ago, and in miraculously good health."

 _I'm going to kill him,_ Harry thought darkly. _I'm going to absolutely bloody murder him._

"Are you telling me my daughter has been back there, all alone, for over an hour-" Harry was nearly snarling, as he rose to his feet once more, but the doctor held his ground.

"Forgive me, Mr. Pearce, but our first concern was for Miss Evershed and the baby. We needed to be sure the baby could breathe on her own and as for Miss Evershed-"

 _Oh God, no._ It wasn't that he'd forgotten about Ruth; he'd just assumed that if she weren't well, the doctor would have said something before now. She was so strong, his Ruth; she didn't look it, with her huge, warm eyes and gentle figure, with her soft voice and her kind heart, but she had bones of steel, and had survived traumas that would have broken a brave man in half. Of course she was all right, he'd told himself, she's Ruth.

Now, though, now he was afraid.

"There were some…complications. She's lost rather a lot of blood. It took us longer than usual, to stabilize her."

"But she's all right?" This from Beth, her words muffled by the hand she'd clamped over her mouth in shock.

The doctor nodded, and relief took Harry like a punch to the gut.

"She's stable. We'll be bringing her back to her room, in just a few minutes. In the meantime, Mr. Pearce, would you like to meet your daughter?"

There was nothing in this world Harry wanted more than to see his child. Nothing, except perhaps to see Ruth, to see her holding his child, to know that both of his girls were safe and well. He nodded dumbly, and started to follow the doctor from the room, but something pulled him back.

Harry walked back across the room, and shook Malcolm's hand one more time.

"Thank you," he said softly.

Malcolm was grinning fit to burst. "Congratulations, Harry," he said in a voice choked with emotion. Harry had to turn away, quickly, before he lost it completely.

"Beth," he started to speak, but she cut him off, all but flying into his arms. She hugged him fiercely for a long moment, and then pulled back, blushing.

"Congratulations, Harry," she said with a sheepish grin.

 _This day just keeps getting stranger and stranger,_ Harry thought in a daze.

"Would you mind-"

"I'll go right now," she cut him off, clearly anticipating his next words. "I'll get some things together, and I'll be back as quick as I can."

"The baby things are all at mine," Harry said, running his hand through his sparse hair and wondering at how quickly things could change. They had a baby, now, a proper baby who would need clothes and nappies, a baby he was going to hold in his arms in just a few moments.

"If you don't mind, Harry, I still have a key. I can go with her," Malcolm volunteered.

Harry nodded, and that was that. Malcolm and Beth departed to see to the necessities, and Harry turned back to the doctor.

"Right then," Harry said, squaring his shoulders. "Let's go."


	56. Chapter 56

As they walked, Harry was certain that young Doctor Noble could surely hear the pounding of his heart, so fiercely was it beating in his chest. These last few months seemed like nothing so much as a dream, one he and Ruth had conjured together, a fond wish never to be realized. It was certainly real now, though; the doctor was leading him down the corridor of the hospital's maternity ward, leading him to the room where he would meet his daughter. His flesh and blood, living, breathing daughter. His, and _Ruth's._

He keenly felt the weight of that responsibility, having so utterly failed his older children. When he was young and brash he'd given little thought to the impact of a casual word, to the consequences of one too many nights spent on the Grid rather than at home; he'd assumed that his children we resilient, and that they'd get on fine without him. And they were, and they did, and as they grew they came to hate him, in a way, to mistrust him, to see him as a stranger; Catherine had denied him, had sat having a drink with Danny and said with a straight face that her father was dead, not knowing he was listening in all the while, the last fragile pieces of his heart shattering at her words. He might as well have been dead, for all the good he'd done while they were growing up, and he knew that now. Over time he'd made his amends with Catherine – _oh God,_ he realized, _I have to ring her –_ and he longed to do the same for Graham. And as for Sophia, he had a chance to make things right before he ever got them wrong.

Not that he was off to a good start, he mused as he walked. Her birth had very nearly been a catastrophe, and all because of him, because someone wanted something only he could give. It didn't bear thinking about, what might have happened if Lucas hadn't given Ruth the mobile, if the ambulance hadn't gotten to her as quickly as it did. And he hadn't been in the room, when Sophia was born, and she was nearly an hour and a half old already. Harry had already missed her first breath, her first wailing cry; what more would he miss, in the years to come?

In the days leading up to this, Harry had given some rather serious thought to retirement. And as he walked, Harry decided it was time to stop thinking, and time to start _doing._ He'd come damnably close to losing everything today, and he wasn't going to waste another moment.

"Here we are," Doctor Noble said with a sigh, ushering Harry into a private room near the back of the ward. There was a small couch on the far side of the room, and a big empty space where the bed ought to have been. There was also a strange, square plastic contraption in the corner, decked out in all sorts of electronic bells and whistles, with a very pretty nurse standing guard over it.

"This is Mary, she's the duty nurse this evening. She'll help you with anything you need," Doctor Noble said, and without so much as a handshake, he turned on his heel and departed.

"Don't mind him," Mary said with an easy smile, turning back to her odd little box. "He's had a long day. Or long night, I should say."

 _He's not the only one._

"Where-"

"She's right here, love," Mary said. Harry stared at the nurse in bewilderment; there wasn't a baby in sight. "Why don't you have a seat there on the sofa and I'll bring her to you."

Harry gave a little nod and crossed the room, feeling a bit befuddled. Nothing about this night made sense, but there was nothing new about that; he'd been feeling confused and out of sorts since the moment he'd first learned Ruth was pregnant. He supposed he'd better get used to it; chances were, with Ruth and Sophia in his house, nothing about his life was really going to make sense for a very long time to come.

The truth behind the box became apparent as Mary turned to him, and carefully crossed the room with a very small bundle tucked into the crook of one arm, and a miniature portable oxygen unit clutched in her free hand. When she reached his side, she very carefully nestled the oxygen unit next to his leg.

"Here we go, love," she murmured quietly as she placed Harry's daughter in his arms for the first time. "Watch her head, watch her head."

Harry stared down in wonder at the little person in his arms, at her soft, delicate face, at the thin plastic of the oxygen delivery tube tucked underneath her tiny button nose.

"She's so small," he whispered in wonder. He didn't dare speak too loudly; he hardly dared breathe. She was Ruth in perfect miniature, with her mother's high, sharp cheekbones and soft lips in the shape of a perfect little bow. Her eyes were closed, thick lashes resting in a fan against her cheeks, the pale skin of her head dusted with a smattering of soft, dark hair. Sophia Grace was lovely, and almost unbelievably small. Harry was truly, deeply terrified he might hurt her, might crush her in his hands that seemed practically gargantuan in comparison.

"Just under five pounds," the nurse told him with a smile, still leaning over him as if _she_ didn't quite trust him with the baby, either. "She's good a size, considering how premature she is."

"And she's healthy?" Harry asked, unable to tear his eyes away from his daughter's face. She was wrapped in a soft white blanket, her head nestled in the crook of his elbow, and Harry was certain in that moment that he'd never held anything more precious in his life.

"We're monitoring her lung function, but so far, she's doing quite well. The oxygen is a precaution, just now. We'll see how she's doing tomorrow, and maybe she'll be able to go without it. All her other responses so far have been normal, but the big test will come when it's time for her to eat. Which should be any minute now."

Mary straightened up, and gave Harry a fond smile he never saw. "I'll go see where your wife's got off to. No sudden movements, yeah?"

Harry nodded; he didn't think he was going to be moving, suddenly or otherwise, for a good long while yet.

"Hello, little one," he murmured, feeling his heart rate double as her gossamer eyelids fluttered at the sound of his voice. "You gave us quite a scare, back there."

* * *

Ruth came back to herself slowly, the grogginess fading away, her consciousness slowly returning and bringing it with a rush of pain. She groaned, and turned her head on the pillow; her whole body felt heavy as lead, but in the midst of her confusion and her pain there came a sharp, terrifying sense of incompleteness, the sensation of something vital having got mysteriously lost. By the time she managed to open her eyes, she'd isolated the feeling; the peanut wasn't with her, any more.

"Harry?" she asked, her voice nearly shrill and laced with fear. He was sitting beside her in a distinctly uncomfortable looking chair, a small white bundle sheltered in the crook of his arm. When he heard her voice he looked up at her and smiled, and then he reached out with his free hand and took hold of hers, giving her a little squeeze.

"It's all right, Ruth. You're all right, the baby's all right, everything is fine."

She couldn't help it; at those words she burst into tears. For the last few hours – well, for the hours she'd been awake – Ruth had been consumed by fear, unsure of what Lucas was plotting, terrified when she'd discovered the baby was coming entirely too early, horrified at the words "emergency C-section" and the sight of Harry being dragged from her side. It was all too much, the release of all that fear at once, the boundless joy that replaced it, overwhelming her all and making it hard to breathe. The peanut had made it, after all, had survived Ruth's very worst nightmare and come through well and whole.

Harry rose carefully to his feet, and through the haze of tears and her own racking sobs, Ruth caught sight of the chords stretching from the bundle in his arms to the little machine beside him.

"Is she-"

"She's all right. They're giving her oxygen, just in case. There was some concern about her lungs, but she seems to be doing fine."

Her tears fell all the harder, at that; he'd told her Sophia was fine, but even so, seeing her child hooked up to machines when she was only a few hours old brought the sharp taste of fear back into her mouth.

"What's going on here, then?" the nurse asked as she came bustling back into the room. It was well past midnight, but for all that the woman seemed rather chipper as she bent over Ruth's bed and pushed a few buttons. Beneath her Ruth felt the bed begin to rise, felt her body shift into a sitting position, and with this change in position came a fresh wave of pain, but through her tears Ruth could not find the words to tell the nurse what was wrong.

"She's been through a lot in the last few hours," Harry explained rather blandly.

Ruth couldn't help but laugh; that was the understatement of the century.

"I think I know what'll help, love," the nurse said. "How would you like to hold your daughter?"

Ruth nodded dumbly, taking a few deep breaths, desperately trying to steady herself. She held out her arms and Harry gently eased his blanket-wrapped bundle down into her grasp, mindful of the oxygen tube all the while.

"Oh," Ruth sighed as she looked into her daughter's eyes for the first time. "Hello, Sophia," she whispered. Tears were still sliding freely down her cheeks, but Harry reached out, and brushed them from her cheeks.

"She's so small," Ruth whispered.

* * *

Harry couldn't seem to stop grinning. Here was Ruth, wan and pale but mercifully alive and blessedly alert, holding their daughter in her arms, giving voice to the very same thought he couldn't seem to shake. It didn't seem possible, that this tiny little person was real, was here, was _theirs,_ forever. Ruth looked so natural, holding Sophia like this, and as he watched her tears slowly subsided, replaced with the soft little glow he'd come to associate with her over the last few months.

"She's beautiful, and so are you," Harry told her, because he simply couldn't keep the words inside him any longer. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, wanting to stay right here, by her side, for all the rest of his days.

* * *

As Ruth held her daughter, she felt the brush of Harry's lips against her forehead, and she smiled. They'd made it, somehow, had managed to come through this together, and there was no one in the world she wanted by her side more than Harry. She had a dim memory of hearing him tell her that he loved her, and she was almost certain that she had replied. She hoped she had, that her response hadn't just been a dream; she wanted him to know what she had always been too afraid to tell him. It seemed so silly now, that she had ever been frightened by what she felt for him; her heart was so full of love she wasn't sure she'd be able to contain it, anymore. She also wasn't sure she'd want to.

Ruth opened her mouth to speak, to tell him, but in that moment Sophia began to cry, very softly, her little eyelids fluttering and her little lips parting to let forth a burst of sound.

"You might try feeding her now, love," the nurse suggested. Ruth started at the sound of her voice; she'd quite forgotten that she and Harry weren't alone, at the moment.

"Will it be all right, after the anesthesia?" Harry asked nervously.

"It's mostly out of her system by now," the nurse answered, "she's just fine to nurse, if this little one cooperates."

The nurse leaned over and very carefully removed the oxygen tube from underneath Sophia's perfect little nose, and then helped Ruth rearrange her hospital gown, baring one of her breasts and gently laying Sophia down on her belly.

"There you go, love," the nurse said in an encouraging sort of voice as Sophia began to shuffle around.

* * *

Harry had never seen anything quite as lovely as the smile on Ruth's face when Sophia latched on, and began to nurse. She looked almost beatific, in that moment, and he wanted to capture the image of her in his mind, wanted to plaster it on the inside of his eyelids so he could see it every time he closed his eyes.

"That's a good start," Mary said approvingly. "I'll be back in just a few minutes. If she can keep it down, we'll take that as a very good sign indeed."

Ruth reached out and took hold of Harry's hand, tugging him towards her. He went with her willingly perching on the edge of her bed and cradling her hand between both of his own.

"She's amazing," Ruth said, smiling up at him wetly.

"She is," he said. He could think of no more to say; there weren't enough superlatives in the world to describe the transcendence of the tableau before him.

He was just on the verge of telling her he loved her. He'd said it once before and he dearly wanted to say it again, wanted to say it now and keeping on saying it every day for the rest of his life. There was no way to know for sure if Ruth remembered their earlier frantic declarations, not without asking her, and he very much wanted to ask. He wanted to ask why she'd finally agreed to the name Sophia, and he wanted to ask her to marry him, properly, and he wanted-

The stillness of the moment was shattered by the ringing of his mobile; all three of them jumped at the sound, and Sophia briefly lost her grip. Ruth shot him a disapproving look as he fished his mobile from his pocket and she carefully helped Sophia latch back on.

"It's the Home Secretary," he said apologetically as he stared at the screen. Part of him wanted to hurl his mobile against the wall and be done with it, but there was another part of him, the Section Head part, that knew full well he needed to speak to the man.

"Pearce," he said gruffly as he answered the phone. Mary came shuffling back in, casting a reproachful look his way as she crossed to the other side of the bed to check on Ruth and Sophia.

"Harry, for the love all things holy, please tell me MI-5 didn't blow up a warehouse on the wharf this evening."

Harry sighed.

"It was an operational decision," he said, hedging his bets.

"Well, it was a bloody stupid decision," Towers shot back. "We need to meet, now, to discuss the fall out; this is going to be all over the morning papers."

"That won't be possible, Home Secretary," Harry answered as casually as he could manage. At the words _Home Secretary_ Mary's head had shot up, and the look she gave him now was more appraising than anything else, as if she was wondering what sort of man this was, who'd found his way to her ward.

"Harry-"

"Ruth's had the baby," Harry interrupted. He still couldn't quite believe it, even though he was looking right at Sophia as he spoke.

There was a moment's pause, and then Towers said, rather uncomfortably, "Oh. Well. Uh. Congratulations, Sir Harry. Give her my best."

"Thank you, and I will."

"I suppose our meeting can wait until the morning." No doubt Towers thought that was a rather magnanimous gesture, giving him the night off, but Harry had other plans in mind.

"I would like to meet with you tomorrow," Harry began, though he almost stopped speaking altogether when he saw the way Ruth's face fell at those words. He soldiered on, though; he had a feeling she might like this next bit. "I need to hand in my resignation."

Ruth gasped and squeezed his hand, her eyes filling with tears once more as she stared at him in confusion. For her part, Mary was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible while her gaze darted back and forth between the pair of them. He could only imagine what she thought of all this, as a casual observer, but frankly, he didn't much care.

"Come now, Harry-"

"If you need any further assistance this evening, Home Secretary, you'll need to speak to Dimitri Levendis. Good night." And with that Harry ended the call, and promptly turned off his mobile. For the first time in ten years, he was utterly unreachable, by his own choice. It felt damned good.

"Harry," Ruth whispered his name, sounding equal parts uncertain and hopeful, and he simply couldn't stop himself. Harry leaned forward, mindful of Sophia still nursing merrily pressed against Ruth's breast, and kissed her, hard.

"I love you," he said, leaning back just far enough to look into her glorious blue eyes. "Sod the bloody Home Secretary. The only place I need to be is here with you."

Ruth looked overwhelmed, in that moment, as if words were quite beyond her, and rather than respond she cradled his head in her hand, and drew him back to her for another kiss.

"I love you," she breathed against his lips when they parted. "I love you."

Harry smiled, and kissed her again.


	57. Chapter 57

**A/N: Ok, y'all, here we go! I think there's just the epilogue left, after this. This story could very well go on indefinitely, but as much as I've loved writing it, I think the time has come to put it to rest. Thank you, as always, for your enthusiasm and your continued support, despite this fic reaching epic proportions. You're lovely, every last one of you.**

* * *

Ruth was asleep, when Mary came to take Sophia away. Harry had been sitting in the armchair by Ruth's bed, holding his sleeping daughter, marveling at her tiny face, the flutter of her eyelids, the steady rise and fall of her chest. She was breathing a bit faster, a bit shallower than he would have liked, but she was breathing. She'd kept her supper down, and barely made a fuss at all over the last few hours. That was a bit of a surprise, to him; what he could remember of Catherine and Graham as newborns was a nearly constant wailing. Sophia, though, Sophia barely made a sound.

"Time to go, love," Mary said softly, startling him with her nearness. Harry couldn't bear the thought of handing his daughter over, even to someone as capable as the inestimable Mary, and he made no move to release his hold on the baby.

"She's sleeping," he said in quiet voice. "Can't she stay, just a bit longer? I'd hate to wake her."

Mary chuckled a bit at that. "She'll be all right, you'll see. You should try to get some rest yourself, dad, this will be your last chance for the next eighteen years."

The nurse reached down, and neatly scooped Sophia out of his arms, leaving Harry bereft in her absence, and slightly troubled by her words. Mary was right, he realized grimly; Catherine was nearly thirty, and he still lost sleep, worrying about where she was and how she was doing and if she was safe. Chances are, he'd spend the rest of his life worrying about his children, but he'd already had rather a lot of practice at that.

"Oh, I think someone needs her nappy changed," Mary said, wrinkling up her nose in distaste as she carted Sophia off to the little changing table in the corner. "Would you like to do the honors?" she asked.

Harry shuffled to his feet; it had been more than twenty years, since he'd last changed a nappy. What if things were different now?

"It's been quite a while since I've done this," he murmured as he carefully unwrapped Sophia's blankets. _Christ she's so small,_ he thought. He still couldn't quite get over that, how something so small and fragile and delicate could be his responsibility. Harry had boxer's hands, big and battered, scarred and a bit arthritic, these days; he didn't entirely trust himself with her, yet, but he knew there was no one else who could ever love her, ever protect her the way he could.

"I thought she was your first," Mary observed as she watched him over his shoulder. It was a bit like taking an exam, he thought as he fumbled with the nappy; he could almost see her with a clipboard in hand, giving him marks based on his technique and how long it took him to get the job done.

"Well, she's Ruth's first," he explained. "I've got two, from my first marriage."

He quite liked saying that, _first marriage,_ as if there was a second. If he had his way, there would be, but he needed time first. _Timing means everything,_ she'd told him, and he meant to learn from his mistakes. Harry had every intention of asking her again, but when that happened, he'd make sure the moment was perfect. No bloody funerals, no bloody intrigue, just him, and Ruth, and a nice bottle of wine. Maybe some candles. _Probably ought to get some candles._

"And how old are they?" Mary asked with a little smile.

As deftly as he could manage Harry did up the fresh nappy, and started wrapping the blankets around Sophia again. She'd not made a peep through the whole process, watching him through heavy lidded eyes as though she were mildly bored by the proceedings.

Harry had been expecting the question, but he was still a bit hesitant to answer. How must they look, to someone who didn't know them? Ruth was closer in age to his children than to him, and without knowing what all they'd been through together, he supposed it must look a bit like a midlife crisis. It wasn't though; the way he felt about Ruth, the way he'd felt about her since day one, defied all logic, and he was profoundly grateful to have ever experienced such a love at all, and damn the timing.

"Catherine is twenty-nine, and Graham is twenty-six."

Mary whistled. "There's a…bit of an age gap, then," she said dryly.

Harry supposed he ought to get used to comments like that. He was much too old to have a newborn baby, and Ruth was much too young to be stuck with a grumpy old bugger like him, but this was their life, and he couldn't bring himself to regret having Sophia, not once, not for a second.

"We didn't exactly plan it," he said as he lifted Sophia back into his arms, holding her close against his chest. "But we're happy."

"That's all that matters, then," Mary said. "Now, I've got to take her, Harry. Try to get some rest. I'll bring her back when she needs feeding."

It was with a heavy heart that Harry finally relinquished his hold on his daughter, his mind awhirl with numbers.

Before he could get too morose thinking about his own mortality, though, Ruth stirred on the bed behind him, and murmured his name in a sleepy little voice. He crossed the room to sit at her bedside once more, smiling as she gazed blearily up at him.

"Sophia?" she asked, a worried little frown creasing her brow.

"She's fine, she's with the nurses for a bit. They'll bring her back; right now they just want you to rest."

Ruth nodded, yawning.

"Are you feeling all right?" he asked her. In all the madness surrounding Sophia's arrival, it seemed to him that he'd been given very little information about Ruth and her condition. This worried him more than a little; the doctors had told him she'd lost a lot of blood, that the surgery hadn't been easy for her, and he had no idea what that might mean, long term.

"Yeah," she sighed, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "I'm fine. Hurts, a bit, but I'll live."

He reached out and smoothed one hand across her brow, brushing her hair back from her face. It was a face he'd never grow tired of seeing, a face so full of life and hope, a face that showed her every thought, that nearly shone with the brightness of her very soul, and he loved every inch of it.

"You need to rest," he told her softly.

" _We_ need to rest," she told him, smiling.

His heart did a funny little summersault, at those words. That was precisely the conversation they'd had the night he'd first taken her to bed, though they'd switched the lines this time around. Every moment of that night was burned into his memory, the hopelessness, the fear, the joy, the rebounding ecstasy of finally, _finally_ having her, the way he'd always wanted to. It would be fairly accurate to say that their entire lives had changed, because of those four little words. And in the soft creases and gentle lines of Ruth's face, he saw her having the exact same thoughts. _We need to rest,_ he thought as he watched her, watching him. Not just to sleep, to recover from the last few days, but to rest, to give their hearts a chance to mend, to recover from the years they'd spent walking the wall, watching in the darkness. They had done their time in service to Queen and country, and now it was time for them to rest.

* * *

When the nurse brought Sophia back for her feeding, it was getting on towards four in the morning, and Ruth was wide awake. She couldn't sleep, couldn't bear to close her eyes; though she was completely exhausted, her mind tossed and turned with a million chaotic thoughts. Everything had been going so well, now that Sophia was here; Harry had announced his plans to retire and held her hand and told her that he loved her, and she had echoed his words, had finally managed to tear down the last remaining wall that kept her heart separate from his.

At the moment he was fast asleep, lying on his side, his face buried in the crook of her shoulder and his arm slung out over her belly, the way they'd slept every night they'd spent together during her pregnancy. Ruth had wrapped her arms around him, half terrified he might fall off the bed that wasn't quite big enough to hold them both.

"You know they're not really meant for two people," the nurse told her with a twinkle in her eye as she came to stand beside the bed.

"He's so tired," Ruth said softly, running one hand fondly through his sparse hair. She knew he was tired, not just from lack of sleep, but from the years he'd spent living and breathing the service. Now that he'd drawn a line under that part of his life, he deserved a chance to rest.

"How long have you been together, then?" the nurse asked as Ruth shuffled around, wanting to hold Harry and Sophia at the same time, if she could.

 _Seven years, or eight months, or about six hours, depending on how you reckon it._

"A very long time," she said aloud.

The nurse chuckled a bit, and tucked Sophia against Ruth's skin where the baby happily began to nurse.

It was fascinating, really, to watch her, to know that she was driven purely by instinct, that the DNA Ruth and Harry had passed on to her carried instructions for everything from the beating of her heart to the silly little snuffling movement she made as she searched for her supper. One day this tiny, soft bundle in her arms would grow up, would learn to speak, to read, to write, would ask questions about her mummy and her daddy and the world around her. Ruth scolded herself for thinking that far ahead; each moment with Sophia now was precious and new and fleeting, and she was determined to enjoy every second of it.

She _was_ worried, though. What would she say, when her daughter asked how she and Harry had met? What would she say, when asked why on earth she'd had a child, so late in her life, with a man like him? How could she ever begin to explain the way their hearts had bound themselves together, quite without their permission?

 _Maybe it doesn't matter,_ she thought as she watched her child nursing happily. _Maybe there doesn't need to be a why, just this once. Maybe it just is, and that's enough._

* * *

It was three days, before Ruth and Sophia were cleared to go home. Three days of tests and anxious waiting, watching Sophia's tiny face for the slightest trace of discomfort. Three days of pain for Ruth, as her body slowly adjusted to the absence of the peanut. Three days during which the very axis upon which Ruth's world turned shifted. Harry had been the center of her life for years, her touchstone, her guiding light; now, he was still there, right in the middle of everything that mattered to her, but he was holding Sophia in his arms.

As they drove home to his she caught him casting frequent worried glances at the baby in the rearview mirror. She had half a mind to chide him, for not paying more attention to the road, but she couldn't really blame him; it was just as difficult for her to keep her eyes off their child as it was for him.

When they reached the house he waved her off, telling her to go on inside, and let him worry about fetching Sophia and her carrier. Ruth didn't mind his solicitousness, just now; the carrier was heavy, and she still felt a bit off, after everything. Let him do the heavy lifting for now; she'd go and make some tea, her first proper cup of tea since that dreadful night when she and Beth had sat together in the bathroom unraveling this mystery together. Ruth simply couldn't wait.

Scarlet greeted them with all the excitement she could muster, when Ruth walked through the front door. Beth and Malcolm had been looking after the little dog, and there was a bouquet of fresh flowers on the table in the entryway, and a little card, too. It was rather a nice gesture, she thought, but her thoughts were so focused on tea that she didn't even stop to read the card.

Ruth made her way into the kitchen, smiling as a thousand fond memories of nights spent in this room washed over her. Every inch of this space was familiar to her now, and she moved about with a sense of purpose, losing herself in the domesticity of making tea, in Harry's home. _Their_ home now, she supposed; while she'd been in hospital Beth had overseen the transfer of her belongings. Ruth had agreed to move in with Harry, and though initially that thought had filled her with a sense of foreboding, now it only made her feel…happy. It was right, that they should be here, together. Sophia's things were here, and there was room enough for all three of them, and a little garden for Sophia to play in, when she was older. This was a fine old house, and she thought they could have a happy life, here.

"Home again," Harry sighed as he came waltzing in the room. Over the last few days he'd seemed so much lighter than he'd ever been before, smiling often and easily, cracking little jokes the way he used to do when they first met and he hadn't been completely broken by the job, by life, by her. As she watched he gently set the carrier on the floor, and scooped Sophia out of it, bringing her to rest against one shoulder as he crossed the kitchen, and wrapped his free arm around Ruth's waist, drawing her close against him.

Ruth sighed happily, and rested her head against his shoulder. He held them both, and she reveled in the warmth of his body wrapped around her own.

"Home again," she agreed with a smile.


	58. Chapter 58

**A/N: And, at long last, the epilogue. I don't think this is the last we'll be seeing of Harry and Ruth and Sophia, but the time has come to bring this particular chapter of their lives to a close. I'll be starting another project soon, so look for a new fic from me in the next week or two. In the meantime, please be warned this is almost unbearably fluffy.**

* * *

Beth drummed her fingers restlessly on her thigh, staring out the window at the streets of London flashing by. She'd had every intention of arriving early to this little shindig, but life on the Grid stopped for no one. She willed her taxi to move faster, thinking excitedly about what was to come.

It had been a long year, for Beth. Lucas resigned, in the wake of Albany; forensics from the warehouse and confessions from the Chinese agents who'd managed to escape the bomb blast confirmed that he was, as ever, on the side of the angels. It was one test too many for Lucas, though, and he had seemed determined to live a quiet, peaceful life far away from those who wished to use his past to hurt him. Beth wished him all the best, she really did.

Martha had done well, in filling Ruth's shoes. She was a bit silly and a bit…naïve, but she was very nearly as bright as Ruth. Nearly, but not quite; even one year into the job, she still had a lot to learn.

Tariq was still hanging around, his hair still too long, his eyes still bright and hopeful, for which Beth would forever be grateful.

Malcolm had slipped back into the shadows, never to be seen or heard from again. Beth found she actually missed Malcolm, whom she'd only known for a few days, more than she missed Lucas. Malcolm was a real gentleman, and she'd grown quite fond of him while they were looking after Harry's little dog and fretting quietly together.

Dimitri had left the service, a few months after Albany. He'd met a nice girl called Amy, and he told Beth that after watching what Harry and Ruth had been through, in the name of Queen and country, he'd decided to put family first. They were getting married, last Beth heard, and she smiled as she thought about it. _Good for him,_ she thought. _He deserves it._

Beth had finally given the cat a name; _Cat._ Short, and to the point.

Yes, the world spun madly on, as ever, and Beth remained on the Grid, fighting the good fight, and finding her way. There had been moments, just a few, when she wondered if it was worth it. If it was worth the losses, worth the pain. In a year, three agents she'd known had died, and in those dark times, doubt gnawed away inside her. And when she felt low, felt certain that nothing in this world could be worth such a sacrifice, she pulled a small photo from the bottom drawer of her desk. It was a picture she'd snapped, in the hospital just after Sophia was born. She'd come to deliver Ruth's things, bluffing her way past the night nurse with a fake police badge, and wandered into Ruth's room to find all three of them, Ruth and Harry and Sophia, squashed together in the little hospital bed, Ruth and Harry grinning at each other like idiots. It was such a lovely moment, and Beth couldn't help herself; she taken out her mobile and captured the image before they even realized she was there. Looking at that photo now reminded her that Harry and Ruth had dedicated their lives to the people of this country, and as far as she was concerned, it was high time someone looked out for them. _It's my turn,_ she thought.

The taxi pulled up in front of Harry's house, and Beth paid the driver before rushing out onto the pavement, her heart pounding excitedly in her chest. Protocol prevented any sort of fraternization between current and retired members of the security services, but Beth felt an exception ought to be made for her goddaughter's first birthday. She'd been careful, on the way here, and she was as certain as she could be that her movements weren't being tracked.

Beth rang the bell, and rocked anxiously back and forth on the balls of her feet, toying with the handles of the brightly colored gift bag she carried. After an excruciating wait, the door swung open, and for the first time in months, Beth was face to face with Ruth Evershed.

"Hello, Beth," Ruth said with a knowing little smile.

She looked better than Beth had ever seen her, her eyes clear and sparkling, her cheeks flushed prettily, her hair long and soft. And in her arms she cradled her child.

"Christ, she's huge!" Beth exclaimed. She couldn't help it; in the one photograph Beth had of the peanut the child had weighed barely five pounds, her skin had been nearly translucent, and a thin plastic tube had run under her nose, helping her little lungs to breathe. Now, though, she was a proper size, and every inch Ruth Evershed's daughter. The only piece of Harry she could see in Sophia's face were his eyes, those soft hazel eyes regarding her so cautiously now.

"Every time I look at her I think she's got bigger," Ruth confessed, taking a step back.

Beth followed her, stopping just inside the doorway to envelop her former flatmate in a warm hug.

"I've missed you," Beth said softly as they parted.

Ruth sighed a bit at that.

"I've missed you, too. I've missed everyone, I've missed the Grid, I've missed work. But look at this," she added with a smile and Beth watched, fascinated, as Ruth gently set the peanut down on the floor. After a moment, Sophia took one wobbly step, and then another, and then, gaining confidence, she tore off down the hallway, giggling.

"Christ," Beth said again, flabbergasted. _So much can change, in a year,_ she thought.

"I miss work, but I wouldn't trade a minute of the time I've spent with her," Ruth said quietly. Beth could certainly understand that, and so she simply nodded.

"Tea?" Ruth asked. "Malcolm's already here."

 _Bloody Malcolm,_ she thought affectionately. "Tea would be lovely, thank you."

Ruth reached out to squeeze Beth's arm gently, and it was then that Beth saw the ring for the first time. She caught Ruth by the wrist, and watched in fascination as a rosy blush bloomed across Ruth's skin from her collarbone to her hairline.

"Something you want to tell me?" Beth asked with a grin. _It's about bloody time._

"It's only just happened; I was going to ring you Beth, honestly I was."

Once more, Beth drew her friend into a tight hug. The last two weeks at work had been a horror show, but it all seemed worth it now, standing in this house, seeing Ruth so happy.

"Congratulations," Beth murmured.

Ruth muttered something unintelligible as they parted, and headed off to make the tea.

The sound of voices led Beth to the sitting room, where she found Harry and Malcolm, deep in conversation. Sophia was sitting in her father's lap, trying valiantly to get her hands on his glass of scotch. The child would reach for the sparkling glass and Harry would pull it back just out of her reach, and as soon as he was sure she wasn't watching, he'd take a quick sip before starting the game all over again. It was odd, seeing Harry without a jacket and tie, his face so relaxed and warm, but it was _right,_ too.

"Ah, Beth, we'd been wondering if you were going to turn up," Harry said with a twinkle in his eye. "You'll forgive me if I don't stand up?"

"Is that any way to greet an old friend, Harry?" Malcolm chided, rising in a rather formal manner and offering Beth his hand to shake. Beth took it, and used her hold on him to pull him close enough for her to drop a kiss on his cheek. A cheek that promptly turned rather pink, she noted.

"Always the gentleman, Malcolm," Beth said as the pair of them took their seats once again.

After a few moments Ruth returned with the tea, and Beth watched, smiling over the rim of her mug as Harry, seemingly without even realizing it, lifted his arm so his fiancé could slide underneath it. Sophia promptly abandoned her father's lap in favor of her mother's, and the pair of them exchanged a somewhat exasperated look at that.

"As soon as Ruth walks in the room it's like I cease to exist," Harry complained in a good-natured sort of way.

"It'll pass," Ruth murmured.

"You two are so bloody domestic I think I'm going to be sick," Beth said dryly.

Malcolm and Ruth chuckled a bit at that, but before Harry could express his indignation, the doorbell rang once again.

"Off with you," Ruth said, still chuckling, and he rose to his feet, grumbling.

"You seem quite content here, Ruth," Malcolm said in that gentle voice of his as Harry left the room. Privately Beth agreed; so far she'd seen nothing but laughter and smiles, a rare sight indeed where these two were concerned. Maybe they'd finally found that happiness they'd both been denied for so long.

"We are," Ruth said with a shrug. "Some days are hard for him. I think he misses the action. I'm getting a bit restless, myself. We've talked about it, and I think I'm going to start teaching, next term. I've been offered a position at a little school nearby, and Harry said he wants to stay with Sophia. I give it about a day before he's complaining about it, though."

"Complaining about what, love?" Harry asked as he came back into the sitting room with their new arrivals in tow. Following in his footsteps there came a young woman with short blonde hair and an aquiline nose, a young man with Harry's soft brown eyes and an easy smile, and an older man, with a close-cropped grey beard and a gruff sort of demeanor; Beth didn't recognize any of them.

"Oh my god!" Ruth cried, clearly shocked. She jumped to her feet, or came as close to that as she could manage while juggling her daughter and her tea.

"We talked about it, and we decided you ought to hug him first," the young man said with an impish grin, indicating the older man.

"Oh, David," Ruth said, her voice a little wobbly as she embraced him.

"You look wonderful, darling," he said, and it was only then that Beth made the connection; _he must be Ruth's stepfather,_ she thought, smiling.

As she watched she also gathered that the young people must be Catherine and Graham, the mysterious children Harry had never spoken about. Beth and Malcolm sat together, each of them radiating awkwardness as they observed the impromptu family reunion taking place in the sitting room. Everyone was suitably impressed with little Sophia, who was doing her best to hide her face in her mother's shoulder.

"Did you plan this?" Beth whispered conspiratorially to Malcolm.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you really expect me to answer that?" he replied.

"Well done."

And so they sat, squeezed together in the sitting room of a quiet house on a quiet lane, laughing over Sophia's antics and discussing wedding plans, and for a few hours on a Saturday evening Beth Bailey forgot about bombs and terrorists and secret plots to destroy the world. For a few hours, she enjoyed the company of this little makeshift family, and decided that, just this once, the world could wait.

* * *

"Christ, I'm tired," Harry sighed as he flopped onto the bed beside her. Ruth smiled indulgently, tucking a slip of paper into her book to mark her page. It had been such a lovely evening, having their whole family there together for once, and she hoped they could arrange it again sometime, but privately she agreed; they'd been so long out of the world that sometimes being around people simply exhausted her.

With a little sigh she rolled over, tangling her legs with his under the duvet and flinging one arm out over his chest.

"It was a lovely little party, though," she pointed out, stretching just a bit so she could press her lips against his neck.

He hummed, wrapping his arm around her and drawing her closer to him. "We'll have to have another one soon. Maybe a nice reception, after the wedding."

It was her turn to hum contentedly; she still couldn't quite believe that they'd made it, that they were really talking about their wedding and racing around after a toddler. Some days she was almost too scared to walk out the door, convinced that their old life would be waiting there to greet her. They'd done too much, seen too much, and surely, she thought, such happiness was not allowed, for people like them. And yet, she woke up each day wrapped in Harry's arms, and each morning she walked down the hallway and opened the door to the nursery where their daughter slept, safe and well and healthy. _Maybe it's not about what we deserve,_ she thought. _Maybe it's about being grateful for what we have._

And she was.


End file.
